Four fires and six souls

In November 2018, photographer John Stanmeyer and I traveled in northern India, following the rivers and experiencing life around them.

Jumping from concrete highways to bumpy dirt roads, we crossed the inner countryside of Madhya Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh, discovering villages behind every tree. We encountered families who hosted us in their homes without asking for anything, only giving. We crossed paths with farmers guiding their cows through the wild land.

One day, at the end of the road, an immense valley unfolded before our eyes.

Huge columns jutted out of the sand like arms reaching to the sky, melding with the brown leaves of bushes growing inside them. There was something alien about that landscape, almost post-apocalyptic. But also magical, transformed by the golden sparkles of sunlight glinting off cars, buses, and motorcycles as they kicked up sand on the road.

We continued to ancient city of Allahabad (renamed Prayagraj in October 2018). It was early morning.

We were walking on the Shastri Bridge, a wall of fog obscuring what was going on below us and around us.

I felt like a bird suspended in the sky.

When we wen down to the riverbank, we were again immersed in the mist. Each site was a leap into the void, and each person encountered, a floating soul. Men were bathing in the cold morning waters or cleaning dishes.

It was eerily silent.

Time to move on. But first, chai.

Chai stops were perfect synecdoches for the variety of Indian life. You could hear the folk music playing on the radio and smell the masala aroma emanating from the small clay cups. You could take in the natural sounds: the wind whispering though the leaves, the mooing of cows passing by, punctuated by a discordant
orchestral vehicle horns on the highway.

Traveling through northern India made me realize that I was searching for familiar things in an unfamiliar world. But I couldn’t find them. I had to question my perception of knowledge.

That’s how I realized I was walking on the edge of a bubble of discovery, a bubble so delicate it could pop at any moment.

And so strong, it contained a universe.

For more videos of this project, click here.

"Aquarium is an exploration of the unfolding consequences of a panic attack, which took place in Beijing in August 2017. The project is a visual research on how I experienced a new city that was rejecting me and that I was subconsciously rejecting at the same time."

I landed in Beijing on the 23rd of August 2017.

When I took my first steps in the Forbidden City, all I could see was a blurred image of something I remembered from looking at photographs, books and online. For the first time, despite being an experienced traveller, I faced a severe panic attack.

At first, the sound of hands moving the ladies’ bathroom curtains was so loud that it was disturbing. And so was the noise coming out of the karaoke bars during the night and the chitchat of people walking on the sidewalk.

Sometimes you observe and sometimes you’re being observed. It’s almost like seeing through a glass that distorts what your eyes see, that makes the light flicker in front of you second after second and inserts you in a completely different world.

And suddenly you are on the other side of that glass. You cannot hear what others say but you can feel the sweet cuddle of the water that surrounds you. And then, before I knew it, that sound of hands moving the bathroom curtains became a lullaby. The noise of the karaoke bars turned into music and the chitchat evolved into rhythm.

Everything became gentle, even the unknown.

Aquarium is the result of a quiet abandonment to self discovery.

For more videos from this project, click here.