One is

Maybe it is because of living and working at Punta Boca del Salado, Baja California, Mexico, for three weeks now.
In a rhythm and regularity and identical context repeated in detail every day.
Each morning waking up at the same time at the same place in the same expedition vehicle.
Doing the gymnastic and yoga exercises exactly like the day before.
Having the same breakfast.
The same morning of working on the computer.
Running the same business.
Seeing the same people as the days before and the same dogs, cows and horses.
The same trees and mountains and sea and beach.

The days are similar.
The events are identical.
The context is always the same.

Until yesterday, when reality and life had become so repetitive, it seemed to have evaporated.
Melted away.
Turned into a grain of sand of the endless beach.

As a result of this the feeling persisted of not being there anymore.
Like slipping out of a husk.
Helplessly and desperately searching for footing and grounding.
Existence as a cocoon and the caterpillar out of it and in a free fall somewhere in the universe of lost souls.

One is not because one is.
One is because of the family, the friends, the surrounding, the things accomplished, the history, the experiences.
But when that slips away because of being repeated over and over again in a too identical way, one is groping.

What to do when the condition of “one is” feels like it has stopped?
When it seems that one is not anymore?

There might be a thousand answers to this question.
But if one is not anymore, from that position no answers can easily come.

Obviously the situation at Punta Boca del Salado is deprivating.

But the photographer knows very well what he has to do to land back on earth.
On the hard drive of the MacBook Pro computer are all those images made last summer at El Triple.
Images that are waiting to be composed into new pictures, called the “PS-series”.
Somehow, there is strong hesitation to start working on this project.

Although, now is the time.
Now is the moment.
Everything is most favourable to do it.

But there is a terrible stage fright.
Immobilized by uncertainty.
Frozen by fear.

This situation is remembered from other times in the past.
An artist knows that these stages in the process of creation come at some point in time.
If new work was created as easy as blowing the nose and exhibiting the handkerchief, art would not be surprising and exceptional.
The artist needs to feel unable, insecure, powerless and impotent.
To get to a new stage where all those feelings are accepted and tolerated so that they don’t disturb nor block anymore.
To go from “one is not” to “one is”.

Experience has learned that to feel lost and outside oneself is nothing to panic about.
Don’t believe that the heart rate of the acrobat about to do a somersault from the trapeze is not racing.
It is something to accept peacefully and gratefully.

Today or tomorrow existence as it was will be the landing strip again where safely will be returned to.
It is unimaginable to leave Punta Boca del Salado with empty hands.
They just need washing.






.