Jesus Labandeira

“To create is to see oneself”

The dream the morning seeks, to immerse itself in a new chimera. The labyrinth in which the moods of the soul are conjugated.

Insomnia, that processor of images and entelechies which, at daybreak, take on the appearance of just another dream; that passage of blame, that litigation of conscience, that solitude that would alter demons; those moments of eternal promises, which – of course – shall not be left unfulfilled.

For the most part, I am not addicted to these nights. However, when our paths cross, I am invaded by reminiscences of this state of somnambulism, of which I have been such a connoisseur.

Remembering it, I find that it perfectly matches this obsession with photography: the synergies of image, windows of time onto places that do not exist (or do), places of passing, places of nobody, dream metaphors. Photographs, which after taking them day after day reveal the hiding places of so many unprocessed nights. Today I stop and see the precise moment of the fluctuation of time, and I regain signs of life, a record of this time that did not exist, this time of instinct; they were dreams, insomnias, naps, strolls through that most intimate of worlds, removed and unconscious.

Today, dissecting that time, those places of unrecognized images, I search for that precise, untameable and serene frame offered by signs of the past, and their forewarnings of the future.