The adventure of the mirror

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Composing a portrait means paying attention to two simultaneous actions: seeing and being seen. For me, the most moving portraits are the ones that happen in an atmosphere of intimacy, where vulnerability becomes possible within a deep connection between photographer and subject.

When being portrayed by others, I used to get very nervous. I felt insecure. How is the person holding the camera perceiving me right now? Which image of me will be shown?

But something changes when I’m the one taking the photos. Both my anxiety and that of the person I’m portraying can interfere with the process, so it’s important to create conditions of calm and safety. Comfort is vital for capturing the most authentic expressions, for letting the essential show through. On top of all that, I have to pay attention to the light, the colours, shapes and background, making sure there are no unwanted elements in the frame. A lot of information to manage in very little time.

Over the years I developed strategies for creating an intimate, safe space that fosters trust in a context of collaboration and co-creation. Here’s an example where that complicity pushed us into an adventure that led to an unexpected portrait.

In 2021, Gen Artes y Ciencias commissioned me to portray eight scientists and eight artists for a project called “Mirar la mente” (Looking at the Mind). The main brief was that the images must not reveal the sitter’s occupation.

With the option of photographing in the protagonists’ labs or studios ruled out, the adventure began with conversations to discover their interests and passions, and to imagine together the best setting for the images.

The unexpected portrait I mentioned was of the artist Rita Fischer. I had always admired her creativity, and when I arrived at the café in the old city where we were meeting, I felt a little nervous. I wanted the image to reflect the sensibility she displays in her work, and I didn’t know whether I’d manage it. I took a couple of photos and, looking at them on the camera screen, we both agreed they seemed too conventional. I tried different perspectives from every angle, even from outside the café, but we noticed that in that setting we weren’t getting an original image. We went out walking, without direction or expectations. Suddenly, out of nowhere, we came across a glazier’s workshop housed in a shed. Inside, particular rays of light streamed through a skylight in the roof and reflected off panes of glass and mirrors. We went in and asked the owner for permission to take some photos. To our surprise, he not only agreed — he became an improvised assistant, using one of his mirrors to bounce the light we were missing to lift the illumination.

It was fascinating to experience what happens when interference appears and, instead of seeing it as an obstacle, we open ourselves to changing our plans out of curiosity. Giving ourselves over to play and expanding the limits of our imagination, we heard the fear and the discomfort but dared anyway to take a step into the unknown. We allowed something new to emerge from the connection between photographer, sitter and glazier.

Neither better nor worse than what we had imagined — just new. The power of the creative process.

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