I photographed New York for five weeks without any results. The vision of that first series was the same one that he had so many times internalized through books and movies, Americans or not, which I consider, if possible, even more imposted.
Living there I coexisted fleetingly with the proud and predictable inhabitants of the five neighborhoods that constitute the city. Beyond the color or social status of each neighborhood, almost of every street, I perceived how they live submerged in that unreal stereotype that they cling to as the only way of justification to defend it as the capital of the world, even if their reality is so distant to his dream.
Its inhabitants, figures of a set that falls apart, turn their backs on the evidence and prefer to continue anchored in the false myth of freedom, of the moral or artistic avant-garde that so long ago fled to more sincere places.
With this new vision, that of portraying a reality that New Yorkers intend to ignore, I walked for months through its streets in search of that image that, surely biased, I had built of the city. I do not think I have succeeded, if in part: as if she were talking about who never lived there or who only knows her by ear, New York still seems full of stereotypes, boring, so predictable.