Txema Rodríguez » Mi otra vida

Antiphon

Txema — Tue, 12 May 2009 06:13:13 +0000

I’ve gone through several nightmarish relationships in my life. As a result, my self esteem was damaged beyond remedy. The women I used to be attracted to vaccined me against any kind of complacency and self-absorption and made healthy vanity the fastest shortcut to shame.
Photography became the only acceptable excuse to demand approval and attention, the only source of comfort and relief, the emergency exit, the raw material of new beginnings after emotional downfalls and quakes. The spinal cord of my identity.
And suddenly, the biggest stroke of luck: her adventitious appearance, the unpredictable realization of all emotional needs. The struggle for survival mutated into another kind of primal drive: to give her something of great value in return. To let myself be noticed and succeed, putting this single virtue to a test. To clean up the mess left by past sentimental choices, working hard to earn her magnificent silences, giving the world something as precious as what I had been given.
I barely wheathered the storm until she reclaimed my name from obscurity. Maybe one must be completely emptied in order to be worthy of true grace.
I remember the first time touched her skin with my lenses, long before we really found each other, so even though times of economic recession are not the easiest for artists, I trust the means to find me like she did. Photography is not about distinction and celebrity, but love returning to the world like an antiphon. The privilege of channeling cardinal revelation through ordinary things.

Pledge of the deadbeat dad

Txema — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 14:30:37 +0000

I clearly remember the day I found out what was going on. The powerful sense of relief and emptiness numbed every single emotion, including betrayal.
I knew I was about taking the biggest leap in my whole life. My hands against the light reminded me my grandfather’s. Suddenly aged, panthocratic, yet innocent and bursting with the urge of creation. I also felt the whole body shaking, the fear of going mad and then, the rest of fears collapsed in two: losing them and not being enough.
I changed hundreds of diapers with those hands. I shot thousands of photographs over their beautiful faces as they were growing up. Now we have to travel far to spend a short weekend together. Now I am the weak one, the deadbeat dad, even though financially supportive, a hopeless failure.
I suspect they are being lied to or denied their right to hold a strong and encouraging masculine reference. The suspicion wouldn’t hurt me so much if I could keep their hearts and minds from all harm until they are secure, self-assured, self-possessed, self-reliant, self-respecting, self-sufficient enough to choose their own fights, choose their own thoughts and heal their own wounds.

Beliefs, memory and perception are tricky. They can be deeply affected by interference and nasty storytelling. I dread the idea that they will pay the price of our faults. I dread the idea of them trapped in a vicious cycle of lousy relationships just because they were told a horror tale of deprivation, absence and neglect. It’s just unacceptable.
What did I see in my ex? What was I thinking? I don’t care anymore.
I won’t nullify the miracle and treasure of the days we welcomed them to life.
I resist to join the war. I won’t hold on to hate.
I pledge not to bad mouth and brainwash them myself.
I won’t tell them stories of saints and sinners.
My amazing girls still walk on water.

Breaking waves

Txema — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 23:46:58 +0000

Amo la fotografía por su fuerza mágica.
Por su capacidad para conmover emocional e intelectualmente se aproxima más a la música que al cine {que no deja de ser una sucesión de imágenes fijas, una ilusión de movimiento que resumimos en una escena estática, aquella que nos atrapa}. Una melodía puede provocar una emoción de belleza (también la del dolor y la devastación) enorme, pero su lenguaje es más difícil de comprender y no contiene reflexiones intelectuales.
La fotografía lo es todo {lo que quiso ser la pintura} {lo que no puede explicar la poesía} {lo que no pueden aventurar los eruditos} {aquello que no pueden ocultar los gobiernos}.
Es la verdad, la revelación, lo no visto. [Al menos como yo la entiendo, sin artificios, sin premeditaciones, sin la asfixiante presencia del fotógrafo que distorsiona los hechos]. Algo que motiva mi absoluta indiferencia respecto al trabajo de muchos que son tenidos por maestros sin que nadie tenga la valentía de desenmascarar sus trampas.
El poder de una verdadera foto es tan grande que puede cambiar vidas. [Por contra, el hecho de que la mayoría de la sociedad sea funcionalmente ciega y admiradora de mediocres imitadores limita su fuerza].
Este trabajo es un ejercicio de fe. Una liberación.

Añado, aunque sea obvia, la aclaración de que no es Richard Avedon un tramposo. Y que ilustra estas líneas como muestra de admiración.

Ceremony

Txema — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 09:13:28 +0000

Mis amigos permanecen en silencio. No es un estado de dolor, aunque su ausencia me entristece en ocasiones {o me despierta ese algo nostálgico/genético de los nacidos junto al Atlántico}. Tampoco se trata de un silencio literal, porque aunque tiene lugar una ausencia de sonido ocurre sobre una superficie en la que la comunicación suele no ser verbal. No porque no sea querida, sino porque no es estrictamente necesaria.

Lo que me lleva a comprobar que mis amigos más queridos son aquellos con los que menos hablo [sin que esté todo dicho] [aunque se haya conversado sobre todo, incluso sobre lo prohibido si lo hubiera aunque no es el caso] siendo ellos los únicos con los que siempre me apetece.

Pero esto se refiere al sonido, que no necesitamos aunque nos guste. En este momento en el que todos andamos encerrados en nuestras cosas porque nos va la vida en ello.