A friend invited me a couple years ago to see a waterfall near her city. I was glad to go so we walked; unfortunately half way she slipped and hurt her ankle. While she rested I walked alone, the time seemed slow as if I were in an infinite day, then I saw this bird, more than a bird actually it was a nervous energy in red. In those times I had the Olympus SP-500uz, to shot the bird I had to put the camera in a tripod and elevate the iso, but I hadn’t the former nor I couldn’t do the latter except I wanted a poor image, so just simply shot et voilá: it was perfect, I just could take one photograph to the bird, and to my eyes it was beautiful. If I would be used the camera that I use today, a Sony R1, the image would have sharpness and definition, but then again that would be a boring photo of a bird on a rock.

I’m not sure if this would be a nice image to others, but certainly to me (a non photographer) it reproduce with fidelity what I saw: a being of pure and frenetic movement as a mirror of the nature that was flowing and singing in that particular way the little and quiet rivers do.

Growing up

I am the root into the earth here is the flower into the sky


When child the adults had long conversations. Children weren’t allowed in those meetings so we had to play or just simply go to another place.

Now, when adult, I have long conversations with family, clients or colleagues, they can last more than one hour, sometimes half a day.

Honestly: they are really boring lol. with family and colleagues most of time the issues are gossips about people I barely remember or care, and with clients it’s more the need to talk to someone about intimate details that has no much meaning to me, so I guess that to they I am a comfortable ear not partial to their antagonists. I miss the childhood silence. Sure, I know that posting is a way to be too loud.I try to post something shorter or something worthy.

Growing up is about win special things, but also it’s about lose some others, because that I always thought and think that seventeen is the perfect age.

Bridge Between Zephyrs



There is a book by Sabato, “Abaddón el exterminador” or the translated version “The angel of Darkness” where the main character is emerging from a dark underworld, populated by creatures related to us but so different that lives and dies with their own laws and motivations. But then he get to emerge to ground, meanwhile he is ascending he can hear the sounds of the constant Buenos Aires’s rumor that in their unending road insinuate the distant lights and the myriads and myriads of people.

A city as Buenos Aires would be, more than a machine, an organism so complex that it would be an inscrutable, almost magic, place to any creature, even if it emerges from an unknown and secret underworld.



I remember her perfectly, the girl with intense eyes. So intense that I could see them across her sunglasses as if the dark color of them were made of a deep glare.

Since I had sixteen years old I could read the eyes of anyone. Even there are people in Perú that works just reading the eyes. I don’t know if I could do the same but certainly I learnt to know the mind behind the people’s eyes. But in her case I was enchanted, lost in the deep sea of their eyes as a little being diving into the vastness. I wonder if someone else saw her the same way as me, eyes so intense that you could see them across her sunglasses.


x a


I was thinking in pu^blish these with yesterday’s post, but to not seem repetitive I am publishing them here. I find the cats fascinating, sure also is truth that a lot of people thinks otherwise, but the life is so short to be worried about the tastes of others.

la gata

la gata





inquisitive whiteness

inquisitive whiteness

personal abysm

personal abysm

he's not coming

he’s not coming

It’s great, the highlights never seem to clip, with digital I have to compensate the exposure negatively, mostly with white and red colors.