BloodSand

BloodSand

THE STRENGTH OF WEAKS

Human rights are not only those defined formally, for example the right to smile … a form of being so delicate that it can not fall within the standard.

The only differences that should be grasped are love in people’s eyes.

Noticeable difference on already suffering skin.

Writing with light, though filtered out of my mind, results in the most pure and unspoken word.

I love to define the subjects portrayed by my photos, my teachers, because from an eight year old boy immersed in a mud pool, I learned to smile and from a disabled boy forced to work as bread and water, I learned to work .

The passion I have for them goes beyond my life, it’s a much bigger idea.

In this project of mine, “The strength of the weak”, before starting to explain to you I want to thank all those who supported me and allowed me to express my timbre, because behind that personal impression there are them and there you are with the your emotions to give oxygen to my sensitivity.

Everything arises from the nobility of a thief converted into a monk.

As soon as I graduate as a community manager, I apply to the town of Asti to investigate the ethnicity of the Gypsy on the pedagogical plane, as I thought it was discriminated against by the different representation of life … if a child steals a game, it can not be condemned and denaturalized, but it can be integrated without fomenting its habits negatively, with criticisms that are only derogatory … many pedagogical systems use ludic-didactic methods not to violate the nature of children, causing them to gradually absorb the rules, without demonizing them if they are not applied.

To gather information I immersed myself in one of the camps of Asti, proposing activities such as juggling and to better study the psychology of children, from them, I learned to steal, I admit it!

The art of stealing has become pure sublimation in my photography.

On 28/11/2016 I can show you how important the sacrifice of the passion for truth is.

That day was intense in Gulu in Northern Uganda, I was in Lacor Hospital with the doctors of surgery for children to document at least 5 interventions from MAR, ano-rectal malformation.

At 4:00 pm I get out of the operating room, taken by the bitterness of those screams, I move away from Lacor, looking for my direction towards the lagoon .. I go to the villages, to the huts, I drink the water from the wells, I pray with the people, I eat with them the fruits of God.

My ascetic walk lasts two days.

The first day entering the jungle I get lost, finding a mining site ..

Countless children working children, hordes of little men making holes to make bricks.

I was happy and happy because I knew that I would share with them beautiful moments, after having made the clown to make them laugh, I take Ocan out of the pool of mud and I start to dig in his place.

That water was a vein branched off the lagoon where the incinerator burned the toxic waste from the hospital.

The little men washed and refreshed there from the heat.

I brought that salt to my skin because if anthropologically their life has a value different from ours, why should mine be worth more than that of a child? Please answer, please do it if you love yourself.