Sogni
Morocco, in collective imaginary, is often associated to a bright, sunny and vibrant country. A kaleidoscope of colours, with crowded and loud streets, crossed by swarms of person among wich the european point of view can see extravagant things. I can’t deny I had contemplated with a strong curiosity -morbidity, in same cases- some situations that for me were unreal, magical, that I never seen and lived before. Blind men who give alms intoning painful chants, children left to their fate, cripples drag themselves like sacks, women hidden in their silky shell. I quickly realized that I was not interested on photograph Morocco as I already knew it. My eyes rested on the people from the side instead, on loneliness and melancholy, on blinds and blind alleys, on shadows and ambiguous figures hidden in the dark. On the nauseating meat that were hung and exhibited on the counters, rather than colorated and delicate spices. On death, rather than life. Stops of my journey have been Rabat, Fès and Chefchaouen. That’s not a reportage, I’ve just collected fragments that refer to dreams, in some way. On my photographs, humans appear like ghosts. Their presence is not clear, their identity is eerie and lost in the space.
