The
Complete Affairs

The complete affairs - Diptic lovers The complete affairs - Diptic lovers

It has been said that photography has lost its capacity to reveal truths, to “shaken” anyone into action. Thus, photography might need to “move beyond the image” itself in order to survive. That is: to appeal to other media, to make them its “expressive crutches”.
This project tries to tease out the limits of such quest, exploring the ways in which photography can regain “depth” and its “narrative stance”.

Photographs usually have a “narrative” –they have a story behind: therefore, they will actually have the story “behind”. As photography acquires a “volume” (it is “solid”), while the text provides a narrative stance.

Each of the brief texts have been wriIen as continuous loop -no beginning or ending. Word and Image stand side by side, but also against each other: text and image blended in an infinite sculptural loop -one which can never be completely apprehended by the spectator with just one gaze (there will always be a piece of the story hidden from his/ her view, in the back).

which she never had the intent of getting involved with me at all. So, when I proposed her to go out to dinner, she was kind of surprised, and a bit confused; it
not only was that she was almost ten years younger than me, and had been my best friend’s student, but she had a boyfriend too, and she loved him very much -for
we walked for hours until the late summer afternoon dissipated in the evening. She didn’t say much but kept smiling and laughing, until she launched into it: why we where actually meeting, after all that time? Did I ever considered
how she felt and how she was after all what happened? She blamed me for what happened a year ago. I guess she never thought she was capable of cheating on her boyfriend. But, somehow, we ended hooking up as
things don’t hold still for that long. They keep shifting; eroding over time. That is why I was so puzzled that still, five years after the whole affair, I was struck in her remembrance, as a horse struck in
the first snow of the season-thatone which is always extemporaneous, catching us unprepared, with no jacket or coat, stranding us midway into our final destination. But one knows
when her email came I was at a dingy internet kiosk, in the middle of nowhere. After a year of not hearing from her, I was shocked, excited;
so much that I would have flown immediately to Boston, where she was spending the summer or invite I was. Iwas stuck in the coldest winter Cuzco had known in decades, theaching -
which didn't prevent me from wondering, every day, as I headed to class, how great it wuld have been to walk down the streets of this stonewalled city with her, to have its dwellers withnesses of the most perfect of affairs,