Mónica Riveiro
In ESSENCIES I present a distilled collection of my photographs, taken in public spaces, both outdoor and indoor. A brief summary of over a decade of capturing moments in black and white, chasing what moves me, what whispers in my ear, and urges me to take the shot.
They call this 'street photography'. And those of us who let ourselves be guided by this search are labeled as 'street photographers'. But I don't quite recognize myself in those words. I look at them sideways, with some distance, like someone avoiding the gaze of a stranger. I've learned to distrust labels.
Yes, I know. Showing 246 images all at once may seem excessive, even exhausting. But how can I condense years of exploration and fleeting encounters into less? These photographs are not organized by cities because it doesn't matter where they were taken. The street, the country, the exact corner are irrelevant. I’m not trying to map my steps or boast about travels. Although I’m passionate about traveling, my photography doesn't speak of geographies or places. It speaks of me.
Still, I have indicated in each thumbnail the city and country where I captured those moments, like captions. I’ve done this only out of courtesy to the viewer, but I can assure you that it’s not important. In some images, you will recognize the place; in others, it could be any city, any corner of the world.
I have never intended to be a documentary photographer. I'm not interested in recording customs, traditions, or the lives of others. I already spent more than twenty years photographing the lives of others in my social photography work. In this other aspect, so intimate, I don't seek to document; perhaps, without intending to, I end up doing so. But I document my life, my way of seeing, thinking, and feeling. I let myself be guided by what’s inside me: that voice that tells me to point the camera, to shoot, to capture.
I am a born observer. A voyeur, if you will. I watch those who pass in front of me; I follow them with my gaze like a hunter follows the trail of its prey. Sometimes it’s details that capture me: a gesture, a furtive glance, a laugh that seems to escape between the lips. Other times, it’s the people themselves who fascinate me, as if in their act of looking at the infinite or at others, they reflect something of myself. It’s a game of mirrors, infinite, a perfect circle: I observe those who observe. And in them, in some way, I also observe myself. Photographing others is like taking a self-portrait, because what draws my attention to them is nothing more than an echo of what I carry inside.
Sometimes, I find myself chasing what I detest. Other times, what I desire. And there are days when I photograph what scares me. When there are no people, light and shadows become my protagonists. The ugly and the beautiful merge, intertwine, until the everyday takes on an unexpected beauty.
Technical perfection no longer obsesses me. Before, I sought impeccable composition, absolute sharpness, perfect exposure. Not anymore. Now, I pursue another kind of perfection, that of the imagined, that which arises from my intuition. I shoot when something moves me, without overthinking it. The camera becomes an extension of my emotions.
When I photograph, I enter a state of absolute concentration, a trance. It’s as if I disconnect from this world and immerse myself in another: a mysterious place, wrapped in deep silence. The people and spaces I capture cease to be real and transform into fragments of my imagination. With each click, I write stories with light and shadows.
Public places are still my stage, although my gaze has changed over time. It’s inevitable. We evolve, and photography is no different. Like a writer who, after years of novels, finds their voice in poetry, I keep searching for something new with every shot. But my enthusiasm remains intact. Every time I pick up a camera, whatever it may be, the world opens up before me with the same intensity as the first day.
ESSENCIES are not the stories of the cities I visit or the people I photograph. They are my stories. My vision. My essence.
Mario Vargas Llosa's introductory text about James Joyce's Dubliners opened my eyes a bit regarding the so-called "street photography." Direct and precise, it reveals a profound truth: we try to capture the essence of cities and streets, but in reality, what we are photographing is our own essence.
