Framing My Family

Impressions of a return

There’s something beautiful about returning home after a long period of wandering – a peculiar sense of peace and comfort. Opening the fridge to find it magically stocked with food is a new experience; I've even gained a few kilos in a couple of weeks indeed.

I discovered photography on the move; it gradually became the best medium to share my adventures with my folks. Interestingly, before my travels, I never took a picture in Chile. As a child, I used to draw a lot; I wonder how much of it has influenced my photography. All skills, I believe, eventually end up filling the same vase.

—HOLD THAT THOUGHT!

Once I bought my return ticket with the word “Santiago” on it, the idea of photographing in my homeland invaded my thoughts—thrilling and anxious, like a child sleeping beside a Christmas tree trying to catch Santa. I also felt a bit nervous about how my new "self" would interact with my country’s culture, salt, and scenery. For weeks I mainly wondered about the best locations for street photography, considering the places with the most potential, especially along the long coast, my far and sandy treasure.

Surprisingly, I have been drawn to capturing moments with my family instead, especially my grandmother and the gatherings around her. While I don't usually put people on pedestals, my grandmother has the presence of a great bridge, connecting people across different decades and territories. She is the fundamental root that binds the family together, ensuring its flourishing.

“La Bueli” and her dogs. She’s got four, one was too shy to be in the shot.

I have a confession, I don’t feel closely connected to my family. My parents, particularly my dad, were overly protective during my childhood, limiting my chance to find out my own identity. It wasn't the easiest period for me; I craved space to breathe and grow, a runway where to take off. Unlike many of my classmates, I was looking forward to finishing high school and venturing into university, seeking independence beyond my omnipotent dad's reach.

Now, a second confession: I'm a pessimist, believing this world is governed by a system that exploits both people and the earth. In my youthful idealism, I joined several social movements that tried to change the system in my home country. However, after years of strikes, nothing changed, and I forcefully lost hope. Money and power dictate the rhythm and structure of this world.

Then, there's photography—this essential key that makes me fall in love with the world daily. It's a perpetual cycle, a dance with light and shadow; wandering with my camera fuels my soul like a fresh loaf of bread. Strangely, the photos themselves don't matter much to me; what matters is the experience, that moment of enlightenment when looking through the viewfinder.

As Sergio Larrain eloquently said:
“A good image is created by a state of grace. Grace expresses itself when it has been freed from conventions, free like a child in his early discovery of the reality. The game is then to organize the rectangle.”

This passion for photography intertwines with my quest for independence, offering a canvas where I explore the world on my terms. By framing the life around me, I get to untangle its meaning bit by bit, frame by frame.

Somehow, capturing moments of my family has strengthened my bond with them. The very act of framing them reveals a whole new level of appreciation, building a deeper connection with their big hearts. It's intriguing—while waiting for the decisive moment, I discover how effortlessly they laugh and enjoy the simple things of life.

These thoughts made me remember a Harry Gruyaert’s personal story. Once in an interview, he was asked about his relationship with photography and he shared the following story to explain it.

"In 1966, I was losing my girlfriend to her new lover. So, I decided to make a movie about her and him, hoping that, when she saw the result, she would understand how much I loved her. Filming her, I was able to create distance. I became less vulnerable. I understood her and myself better. I was able to let her go. This became an important thing in my photography, to be less there and more there at the same time."

This Harry Gruyaert's story echoes my own—a journey of creating distance to gain perspective, letting go to understand and find strength. In these words, I find my own story, lived and relived. As I continue wandering, discovering, and capturing, these narratives shape my passage—an endless cycle of falling in love with the world over and over again.

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