WHEN I HEAR THAT TRUMPET SOUND

An ode to those who have the Americas under their feet. The memory of a continent through the voice of those who resist.

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The trumpet will sound, after all, but it will be through the hands and lungs of the men and women blowing the mouthpiece. The dead, which we now count, will not rise from the alcoves, but will rise again as memory, and this will not be the sinking of humans, but the melancholic, sad and late end of the reign of god.

‘When I Hear That Trumpet Sound’ is the result of an enormous capacity to love, to be dazzled, and to listen. It takes a lot of courage and determination to dive into the chemical waste of the divine experiment. It is sometimes toxic, poisonous, invades the body through the pores, takes the blood, goes to the brain, muddies any capacity for peace. Love, above all that of these people, but also the reciprocal love for them, is what enables this sublime transformation of absolute chaos into genuine humanity.

part of the afterword by Erick Dau

When I Hear That Trumpet Sound was selected to be part of the permanent photobook archive of the National Gallery of Modern and Contemporary Art of Rome.

Press / Reviews

Critic on C4 Journal

Review on American Suburx by Brad Feuerhelm

Interview for EyeEm

Inteview for Retina Latinx

Review on British Journal of Photography