Softcover, signed.

„It came to my mind while I watched a TV show about lions' life. One lives always as in the savannah, I thought. Not with animals, lions, or zebras, but rather with images partially built, spoiled visions of desire or love, hate or attachment. Revenge’s desire.  My father had  already told me so: Son, the time for justice is gone: Revenge is all we have left. These images are halfway. They happen and not happen. There in the savannah things actually never happen, or rather what doesn’t happen is the dense. Other things do happen: What is trivial, insignificant. The flies rest on the television that is turned on but without images. Life is like a wasteland made of crime’s traces: body parts, the blade of a knife wielded by a bare torso teenager, the remains of an abandon city, a girl who tells me about brain tumors, debris, memorial stones with blurry names, orphaned eyes, stains of semen and blood, strands of dirty hair. Dust in suspension. The African savannah is neither a jungle nor a desert. There is only crap, there is only speck of grass growing in the dryness that is like the heart: worn out skin, worn out time around the skin, the emptiness between people, that irreparable distance. The memories, my mom with Alzheimer drying at the sun between those old dying men from the nursing home near the Estadio Nacional. The president Allende, and my mom so many years ago telling me about him in a city dressed in black. The dream extinguished in our poverty. The difficulties of my childhood. The fear. This series of photographs is made of all of these. After work, daily, one finds oneself alone in the world and in the savannah, full of raw animals, full of things moving throughout the landscape, up and down, like a heart made of flies beating all together, like the death. But also like boredom and the attachment to life. That is why one takes photographs, I think. Since life is the becoming towards a disappearance that we cannot fight, at least we have the chance for registering the residue and the savannah wherein we have to live daily, without arguments or much to say.“

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