When I walk the streets of Merida to make photographs I secure the camera to the wrist of my right hand with a short strap. Thus, firmly in my grasp and with my index finger on its shutter release, the camera is always ready for action as it travels with me. It feels like a body appendage, a physical extension of my capacity to see.
This Merida on which I walk is a city of crossings, of juxtapositions, of characters and encounters that often seem pulled from a time machine, somehow stuck between a distant past and a future already present. It’s a Merida that grows fast and continues to weave its complex history, yet still doesn’t deny us the kindness of a “buenos días”.
Merida has given me a home and awaits me in every corner with a new revelation, for it’s always the same but never alike. By harboring us all, Merida makes us its own. It makes us Meridanos.