The Pigeon

(revised text based on an earlier writing)

I don’t remember exactly when I started photographing pigeons.It wasn’t a conscious decision, nor a project. They simply appeared.

I walked through the city without a clear direction, observing more than searching.Sometimes the camera feels lighter when nothing is expected from it.At other times, the opposite happens: when one stops looking in order to photograph, the image becomes clumsy.

The pigeon was there. Always there.Invisible because of its everyday presence, dismissed for being ordinary.And yet resilient, adaptable, silent.

To photograph is not to capture; it is to remain a little longer.To look until something arranges itself.

The city unfolds in layers: noise, haste, repeated gestures.In the midst of all this, there are moments that do not ask to be explained.Only to be seen.

I was not looking for symbols, but sometimes images bring them with them.The pigeon represents nothing in particular.Or perhaps it represents everything: permanence, waiting, life continuing on the margins of grand narratives.

Some photographs are not made to close a discourse,but to leave it open.

This text belongs to a time when I was still learning how to look.Reading it again today, I recognise an intuition that remains true:before the image, there is attention.

This text was written years ago during a stay in Dublin. I revisit it now as part of a process of reviewing works and thoughts that continue to resonate with my current practice.