Chaco Street
(text for the series of photos of Juan Cruz Sánchez Delgado,
in the group exhibition "The happiness of the residents")
How will the block where I live from here thirty or forty years? How will those who live in it? Are they equal themselves? Have you ever been equal to themselves? I guess one of the children, those who moved recently. Heard them play, bounce off the walls and floor, run screaming. One of them, the smallest, I was very shy, seemed to be asking permission to be all the time. Another, in one of the photos is wearing a blanket, behind him there is someone, a child of glasses that looks at the camera and I repeat, the view, which is the first time I see him. Every time I see the photo and s the first time I've seen. There are all carrying blankets, without realizing it. Of them has only been silence no longer do. What will they think if they ever see in the pictures? There are several photos, not only is this group of children. Is Lucky, the dog sitter on the block, an old dog with teeth or pirate gangster. In the picture seems a metaphysical dog, half angel and embalmed. Is Ramona, the neighbor who knows everything about everyone and talking to everyone, controlling its own way, traffic and life of the block. There are two greet each other in the most simple and convincing the world. There is an idle boy, is so alive and so sure of himself that has already gone elsewhere. A surreal place. Seeing the photos do not just see the secret movements of the neighbors, those tiny things that we are also made (a yawn, a look at the floor, one smoking, two talks, one waiting) in the photos also see that spies. Sometimes that that spies came home and watched the neighbors. They, whoever they are, with their names and not their names, moving beyond the shadows. Who was spied in the eye and the camera in the window. Some approached, posed quiet, com or so, with the other, the spy behind a fence, they felt safer. "Where am I? What he was doing there in the dark? Maybe I'm thinking about the future and memories and in the light. Could it be that each memory has a particular light? Could it be that the future has a particular light and is full of people you do not know? Looking at the photos, I think perhaps the time to them is not the present but the future. I think, "we are no longer there, but we are there. " I think, "it seems as if the camera and the neighbors have an invisible thread": a kind of neighborhood puppet theater. Then there are back. Neighbors. I could swear that move. How might seem alive? I imagine they happen to find these photos, which are photos of a street, a nap and a morning and an afternoon whatsoever. I imagine them finding their images and their lives and their minor gestures lost in the picture, a bright future I do not know what light. I wonder if any of them will see them. If any of them will realize that there are no more window or m ore photo, no eye that looks or body to be seen or hidden eye, no dog pirate or Ramona. That and none of them, not the street or the house, there. I wonder if any of them will realize that the pictures all seem to be awakening. At the edge of travel to one of those places that no longer exist. Or returning it. That. Or are awakening or are sleeping. But it has p roast the time to ask. And I can not tell.
in the group exhibition "The happiness of the residents")
How will the block where I live from here thirty or forty years? How will those who live in it? Are they equal themselves? Have you ever been equal to themselves? I guess one of the children, those who moved recently. Heard them play, bounce off the walls and floor, run screaming. One of them, the smallest, I was very shy, seemed to be asking permission to be all the time. Another, in one of the photos is wearing a blanket, behind him there is someone, a child of glasses that looks at the camera and I repeat, the view, which is the first time I see him. Every time I see the photo and s the first time I've seen. There are all carrying blankets, without realizing it. Of them has only been silence no longer do. What will they think if they ever see in the pictures? There are several photos, not only is this group of children. Is Lucky, the dog sitter on the block, an old dog with teeth or pirate gangster. In the picture seems a metaphysical dog, half angel and embalmed. Is Ramona, the neighbor who knows everything about everyone and talking to everyone, controlling its own way, traffic and life of the block. There are two greet each other in the most simple and convincing the world. There is an idle boy, is so alive and so sure of himself that has already gone elsewhere. A surreal place. Seeing the photos do not just see the secret movements of the neighbors, those tiny things that we are also made (a yawn, a look at the floor, one smoking, two talks, one waiting) in the photos also see that spies. Sometimes that that spies came home and watched the neighbors. They, whoever they are, with their names and not their names, moving beyond the shadows. Who was spied in the eye and the camera in the window. Some approached, posed quiet, com or so, with the other, the spy behind a fence, they felt safer. "Where am I? What he was doing there in the dark? Maybe I'm thinking about the future and memories and in the light. Could it be that each memory has a particular light? Could it be that the future has a particular light and is full of people you do not know? Looking at the photos, I think perhaps the time to them is not the present but the future. I think, "we are no longer there, but we are there. " I think, "it seems as if the camera and the neighbors have an invisible thread": a kind of neighborhood puppet theater. Then there are back. Neighbors. I could swear that move. How might seem alive? I imagine they happen to find these photos, which are photos of a street, a nap and a morning and an afternoon whatsoever. I imagine them finding their images and their lives and their minor gestures lost in the picture, a bright future I do not know what light. I wonder if any of them will see them. If any of them will realize that there are no more window or m ore photo, no eye that looks or body to be seen or hidden eye, no dog pirate or Ramona. That and none of them, not the street or the house, there. I wonder if any of them will realize that the pictures all seem to be awakening. At the edge of travel to one of those places that no longer exist. Or returning it. That. Or are awakening or are sleeping. But it has p roast the time to ask. And I can not tell.
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