From one day to the next, I stopped taking pictures, talking to photographers, over-dosing on art, writing my blog... and didn't know why. This life in black and white feels very rough on the skin; I thought it was gonna be numb and blurry, but giving up on illusions feels like silence - it is the aftermath of a small earthquake in your core.
To make a short story long... (yes, it should be short, but...) I started with photography right after DA BREAK-UP, when I had a lot of time for myself, very few friends, and a new camera in my pocket. So everything out of it was pure joy and became the best of me. The last months were all about 'Magenta 80', my project, my idea, my dearest thought. Yet one day a girl I cared about said the pix I took of her were 'useless', quoting her-friend-the-artist. Didn't seem that rough from the outside and I thought I moved on, but when I realised I had nothing new to show and that I left the contact pages of my project undone, it hit me - something got into my heart and took the dreams away.
Now it has been a month and I needed two airplane tickets, one view of Monterrey from a mountain (at night), twenty martinis, and an evening at a photo exhibit to get back on track. It took talking to Al as well, which is like a rainbow in an empty beer can.
Whoever reads this, do not ever let anyone take your dreams away, do not stop believing, do not forget what makes you smile, do not think you are alone, do take time out and embrace that you are unique. There is where the colours actually come from.
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