1996, Lisbon, Portugal. I haven't seen these pictures from Lisbon for a while. I kept them in a box with the film and the contact sheets together in an envelope. Forgotten, like other slides and negatives. One image on the contact sheet attracts my attention.
A good reason to revive the pictures by finally scanning the film and put some of the pictures in sequence to bring them some honour. The originals are colour but I convert them in black and white for now. I start with an image I'm most curious about. It is a man wearing a crimson red suit standing on a corner of the street. And I remember, his hypnotic intense stare, freezing me for a moment. I made a picture.
He has the looks of a man who knows more. Possibly he could see the unseen. Perhaps he knew already what would be recorded on the rest of my film. And maybe he could see the old woman sitting on a crate, waiting for the tram to Martim Moniz, while a man making a wide leg sweep and a bend to drink water from a fountain and another man stops walking to eat his nectarine to avoid messing on his shirt. Reading pictures is an exercise in imagination.
He suddenly walked away. A woman in a spotless white dress comes rushing from the distance. I made a second picture, and everything in between.
Wandering the streets, elevating the timeless and natural beauty of ordinary everyday subjects.