reportage

Regina, the movie

Regina, the movie

After I exposed her she assumed another identity. So, Jackie O'Can became La Regina (The Queen). She also had to remove her secret weapon, the state of the art microchip she had in her eye. But La Regina was still a valuable asset of Il Mister's secret circle in Venice, so this time she posed as an even more influential personality, a movie star. Establishing her "past" didn't take more than six months. Suddenly, all the cinema magazines featured her in their cover and she monopolised the international online entertainment media... Everybody knew la Regina and they felt as if they have known her all of their lives, although just a tiny doubt would be enough to make the illusion disappear. But the Mister's circle had long ago achieved a mastery in manipulating the people's minds, so nobody took the trouble to doubt... Her next movie was due in September and it was easy for me to approach her pretending to be a photo reporter (a risky choice, since they are very close to extinction...). And the rest was... kismet... She had been investigated and she had loved it... 

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Sakura

Sakura

The cherry trees were in full bloom and beautiful sakura -cherry blossoms- was all that the eye could see. The sakura omnipresence was so real that it became surreal. My assignment had brought me to Kyoto and my subject was Maria, a fellow investigator who lived there incognito for the last 10 years. In any other place I would have recognised her by her zen energy and poise, but in Kyoto I had to look for the Woman Who Drinks Cappuccino. She was the only one - I am immencely grateful to my loyal helpers Juanita and Lupe, who never fail to provide me with smart clues in order to find my subjects quickly and painfully.  By then, I was at the end of a long cycle of investigations and I was really tired… I was thinking that maybe my work was over and my greatest desire was to leave. I met her while the beautiful sound of the traditional Sakura was filling my ears and it was the only music I wished to hear. A strange thought passed through my mind: all I could see and hear was sakura… if only I could speak it too… I opened my mouth and spoke incessantly for 7 hours. Was I saying my last goodbye to my subjects through the painful dance of my vocal chords? (A mexican brujo fellow photographic investigator had once said to me that a warrior investigator always performs a magnificent dance at the end.) I don't really know, I wasn't thinking, just speaking. I knew she was there to investigate me and i was confident she would not be able to… Not with her camera anyway. An experienced photographic investigator knows how to keep her secrets. The only way she could outsmart me was if she carried a tape recorder… Did she? If she did, I would come back only to find out if indeed there was sakura in my speech...

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Poems & Crimes

Poems & Crimes

It was the name of an art bar in Athens. My photographic investigation was surrounded by mystery because, this time, I had to find out for myself who my subjects were. My employer could not disclose that information and although it might seem unusual, I knew it was for safety reasons -my safety. It was one of those times when conceptual projections could not only mislead you, but kill you. So, I entered the bar without expectations and preconceptions, without clinging to thoughts. I was late for the reading of erotic poetry. But I knew instantaneously that my subjects would come to me. I went to the garden. The name of the bar clearly suggested  that after the poetry reading some sort of crime would take place. Without expectations of an Agatha Christie plot -but secretly hoping for it, I must admit- I waited. My connection, Dorian loaded a roll of film in his camera. That was the signal. I got up, approached his table and tripped. Four arms reached out for me. The two belonged to a beautiful male creature, the Dandy. In his vintage diamond cufflinks I could read the word "Poems" in cryptic writing. The other two belonged to a sparkling female creature, the Therapist. In her necklace the word "Crimes" was featuring in the same cryptic manner. I knew then that Poems and Crimes were the names of two families of people whose role though, remained to be discovered. One thing I knew with certainty: I had to shoot them both. Since the beginning of my career as a photographic investigator, it was always clear to me that each investigation could be my last one. My intuition told me that this time the possibilities were greater. I took out my camera and when the luminosity of these magnificent beings shone upon me I recognised it as the inner radiance of my own mind. 

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What happened to Eleonora Krane?

What happened to Eleonora Krane?

This is a question unanswered. And it will remain that way, if I have anything to say about it.  I was asked to follow and photograph her… I didn't ask why, this was just one of these cases… You know what I mean… the money was so good, there was no time for questions… And also, because I thought it would spoil my fun to know about it beforehand. It would be very easy to say that she was just a mad woman visiting again and again an abandoned hospital in Venice. It sure would be an easy assumption. But as I was watching her, day after day, I felt drawn to her, to her energy and personality. Being crazy was just too easy, too simple… In my mind she was an alien actor, a person from another world, stranded here, for unknown reasons. The only way to connect to her home was to perform again and a again a mysterious ritual - the movements and their significance where known only to her. I saw her move silently, harmonically, smoothly, gracefully in her mysterious, strange "dance", in a surreal but mesmerising choreography. And I stopped thinking. I stopped  wondering, as well. All I did was hope, wholeheartedly, that she'd get back home, soon. 

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Who framed Andreas F.?

Who framed Andreas F.?

Andreas F. knew how to frame people… He was really good at it… Andreas F. was a legend. Venice was his playground and a digital Nikon his weapon of choice. Sometimes someone would hire him to frame someone with an analogic camera,  especially if they wanted the framing to be slow and painful… He was presice and methodical, he never left loose ends. If you wanted the job to be done, you'd hire Andreas F.  Women adored him, men were intimidated by him. Of course, Andreas F. was not cheap... He wouldn't get out of bed for less than half a million dollars... Andreas F. worth every penny of it. The framing was clean, smooth, silent. All that was left when he was finished was the smoke of his cigarette… Marlboro, they said… But who really knew what brand of cigarettes Andreas F. smoked? It was the 31st of May… It was my birthday… I had no money, no job, no hope for the future. Venice was hot, humid and dangerously seductive… An old connection of mine I happened to meet for a spritz the day before, had told me a rich Venetian  woman was willing to give 2 million euros to anyone who would frame Andreas F. I could ask for the reasons, but I didn't have to… I said I would do it. I needed the money, I had nothing to loose and I really wanted to know what brand of cigarettes Andreas F. smoked… Even if it was the last thing I saw… It wasn't difficult to track him… I wasn't new to the job… I won't bother you with the details… The framing worked. All I had to do was to hand over the card and collect the money. But life wouldn't just be so sweet for me… As I looked away from the vaporetto that would take me to Punta Sabbioni, I saw him framing me. I didn't feel a thing. He really was smooth. He really was merciful. I throw the card in the Canal Grande. I sat down. As I started to feel the effects of the framing, the san Marco square was already a blur. It was pointless to hold on to reality. As Venice was fading away, I saw the headline in tomorrow's papers: "Who framed Andreas F.?"… My eyes were closed. All I could see was cigarette smoke. Good bye Venice… 

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I met Sunday, she's a girl

I met Sunday, she's a girl

... She didn't know she was the kind of girl you meet in a film noir's hot summer day passing through a gas station or a general store, the kind of girl you ask for directions, or if she has seen the guy you're looking for… She didn't know she was the sunny kind of girl that fate had put in that particular spot as a last  effort to make you abandon the search and go back… Because if you are a film noir hero, when you find what you're looking for, you wish you didn't… Her name was Sunday and that proved that there are no coincidences...

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