I thought that, with time, all the questions I have been asking myself for years about my relationship with photography would be resolved.
Far from it, a multitude of possible answers remain open.
I hardly ever photograph objects, monuments or landscapes, which, if anything, are mere decorations accompanying a single protagonist: the human being, with his strengths and miseries, with his yearnings and frustrations, with his laughter and tears.
And I can't remember a single one of my photographs in which, at the moment of shooting, I have not been accompanied by the deep conviction that only chance or even time are the single reason why I’m not that old man from a remote tribe, that devotee in ecstasy inside a madrassa, that beggar sheltering from the rain under the tin or that nouveau riche who disdains everything that doesn't concern him in the first person. I do not photograph what I see but what I am.
I never think of my photographs as art objects or consumer items, they have nothing to do with ephemerality either. I think of them as tools at the service of a simple idea so masterfully summarized by Wayne Miller: the universal truths of being human.