For those who live in memories (and of memories), sometimes it’s hard to recognize what is happening. But I think it’s good for me that way. Last summer, I didn’t see any shooting stars because maybe I had never looked at the sky with much attention. I’ve been paying attention to attention, lately. That’s exactly what attracts me to an image. It’s not a colour, a shape, not even a specific place or person. It’s something that makes you stop, step back, and perform the intrinsically dull action of taking the camera out of your bag. It has your attention, you give it yours. Someone else will give it theirs. It doesn’t matter if it’s the most breathtaking landscape you’ve ever seen or just a rock. Attention is transformative, it’s a radical and precious act.
When I think about my photography, I think of being alone in places. When I get bored, I go for a walk. I like to photograph what I see. How I see it. Without beating around the bush. I often get bored. I often get bored with my photos. I get bored with people, with mosquitoes, when I’m not working, and I get bored doing the same things over and over. But I like summer. I like summer. I liked last summer even more. I like the photos I took two years ago, even though I don’t understand them, and sometimes I like being bored. Funny thing is, it’s not the sea and the salt, the sun falling deep and lazy behind the mountains, or the sleepless nights eating sunflower seeds in the park that shaped my idea of summer. It’s the hours passing slowly, the freedom to do absolutely nothing. As an only child, I often felt extremely bored. Extremely annoyed. And even if I didn’t particularly appreciate this feeling in the past, now I see it as an extension of freedom. Freedom and time, contemplation without guilt, a craving for anything and nothing in particular. How long was it, since you last allowed yourself to truly be bored?
