Never again the empty in the desert
In 2014 I was in the North of Chile, I met local families that me
they have brought to the discovery of the Atacama desert, of mines minerals, of the Salitrere like Chacabuko and Humberston, today become ghost villages. While the road was increasing, the memories of chileans my friends became more intimate, each place was linked to a glorious past of theirs avi and a history that still causes pain that, that of Pinochet, of the "mujeres of the desierto "and the "desaparecidos". The trip was very early transformed into an experience of life, of death, of emptiness and, despite all the horrors of the Chileans suffered during the dictatorship, that void so horrible as the desert was perceived by me as extremely attractive, dense and therefore "full" just because I knew that under my feet were hiding bodies of hundreds of poor Christs now lost, but never forgotten.
This series that has taken an unexpected turn, it is one story just told. The indifference of many to the crimes of war envelops like a dense and impossible fog all over the desert, because those who do not see forget and those who forget ignore this that was. Fog devours roads, mountains, the sea, blurs even that giant hand that rises to ask for help for whom
voice no longer has. Fog is oblivion.
they have brought to the discovery of the Atacama desert, of mines minerals, of the Salitrere like Chacabuko and Humberston, today become ghost villages. While the road was increasing, the memories of chileans my friends became more intimate, each place was linked to a glorious past of theirs avi and a history that still causes pain that, that of Pinochet, of the "mujeres of the desierto "and the "desaparecidos". The trip was very early transformed into an experience of life, of death, of emptiness and, despite all the horrors of the Chileans suffered during the dictatorship, that void so horrible as the desert was perceived by me as extremely attractive, dense and therefore "full" just because I knew that under my feet were hiding bodies of hundreds of poor Christs now lost, but never forgotten.
This series that has taken an unexpected turn, it is one story just told. The indifference of many to the crimes of war envelops like a dense and impossible fog all over the desert, because those who do not see forget and those who forget ignore this that was. Fog devours roads, mountains, the sea, blurs even that giant hand that rises to ask for help for whom
voice no longer has. Fog is oblivion.