I lay on my stomach on the sand for a long time until a cool breeze woke me up. The beating of my own heart was omnipresent. In fact, that was the only thing I was aware of. That awareness, located somewhere between my ear and my breast seemed to me the most real expression of my life. I didn’t have any specific purpose but to look around and take pictures randomly. Then, movement seemed all pervasive: the breeze, the sea, my body, my heart. But there were things that remained impervious, motionless, and I felt instinctively attracted to those scenarios where utter stillness met with motion. Like the corals that lay a few meters from where I was, under the docile waters of the bay, the planets or the stars titillating on an ethereal backcloth. Only then I held the camera and started taking pictures: all those movements that I had perceived were then dancing within me and not only in front of me: the search itself was the biggest wave. That is how I got to depict, without knowing it, the flow of my own heart.
Water Dances I
El salón de terciopelo rojo
Es grato pensar que uno de los espacios más deslumbrantes de la ciudad de Nueva York -de entre los que se elevan por encima de las nubes-, no es el despacho de un banquero o de un empresario, sino una pista de baile singular que gira sobre sí misma mientras el baile lleva al mundo al borde de la noche. La Sala Arco Iris está situada en el piso 65 del Rockefeller Center y se accede a ella mediante un ascensor directo que apenas tarda medio minuto en elevarse hasta allí. Bailar, soñar; tal vez volar. Y, sobre todo, no caer bajo.