Mericans was born almost by accident. I don’t love shooting when I travel. I want to have my head clear. However, in New York, I found the melancholy of being alone.
This text that I wrote best describes all the work:
The apple that never sleeps.
Of restless skyscrapers
of metal in the air.
Buzzes.
Knots of cement and sheet metal
flags and patriotism.
The poison of traffic
but "please, no smoking!"
So many clichés
building contradictions.
Flavours and smells of thousands of skins,
thousands of nationalities.
A whirl of places
always searching for a story,
yet to create, yet to imagine.
And yet being alone.
Indulging, waiting.
Seeking a fleeting moment in the flow.
Guarding it jealously.
Breaking away.
Stopping.
Alone.
Catching your breath.
Telling yourself that,
anyhow,
you'll be fine.