Victor Zea is more than a freelance documentary photographer; he is a storyteller. His unique style, incorporating innovative methods like solarigraphy, merges artistic and documentary techniques to explore themes of territory, beliefs, and identity. His work, featured in esteemed publications such as National Geographic, The Atlantic, and the BBC, is a testament to his talent.
His Rap on their Roots project, showcased at the Latin American Foto Festival in New York City's Bronx Documentary Center, is a powerful demonstration of his ability to capture profound cultural narratives. Zea's commitment to social justice and cultural reinterpretation is a driving force behind his projects, which seek to amplify the voices of marginalised communities and reintroduce Indigenous heritage through contemporary artistic expressions.
From documenting the vibrant hip-hop scene in Peru to exploring ancient landscapes with solarigraphy, Zea's projects are a testament to his versatility and the breadth of his artistic vision. Each project is a unique journey through his life, shedding light on the transformative power of photography and hip-hop in reconnecting with his Andean heritage.
Hello Victor, I hope you are well. Thank you for speaking with us!
Hi Rashaun, It's nice to talk to you. I've been reading the questions, and I'm very interested in how you're approaching them. Thank you!
Can you share a bit about your early life in Lima and what initially drew you to photography?
I was born in Lima at the end of the 90s. My father is from the Chuquibambilla People in the Andes of Apurímac. My mother is from the northern Peruvian coast called Lambayeque. Both migrated to the capital in search of better opportunities. My father was a lover of his place of origin, of the Andes and their customs, of the music of his land, of the Quechua language. Despite not having taught us the language directly, he was always present on a daily basis and taught us to keep in mind where we came from and appreciate our cultural heritage. My father since I can remember, always had a camera and a video recorder, photographing everything he could about the family. From him, I learned how important it is to retain memories in images and videos.
From a very young age, my parents instilled music in me. I learned to play some instruments, and in my adolescence, the idea of studying a musical career became increasingly clear. However, I never had the confidence to follow [it]. Not being clear about what to study, I chose Business Administration, a career that could be useful for whatever I chose in the future.
From a very young age, my parents instilled music in me. I learned to play some instruments, and in my adolescence, the idea of studying a musical career became increasingly clear. However, I never had the confidence to follow [it]. Not being clear about what to study, I chose Business Administration, a career that could be useful for whatever I chose in the future.
How was the journey transitioning from studying Business Administration to pursuing a Master’s in Documentary Photography?
Although my family always taught me to love my roots, in the last years of school and at the University, the need to be accepted by some social groups gave me a complex and shame towards my origins. In addition to this, from childhood until adolescence, I had a communication problem because my stuttering was extreme. It is at that stage in my life where I happily encounter photography and hip-hop, powerful tools to strengthen my identity and express myself freely.
In 2010, I started a business manufacturing and selling clothing. That year, I spent a month in Cusco visiting friends. Like my father, I felt compelled to document the trip through photography, so I asked him for one of his cameras.
There, in the imperial city, I meet Aurelio de la Guerra, a very talented multidisciplinary artist, to whom I propose to be the designer of the clothing brand and, observing my interest in photography, he recommends that I meet some photographer friends of his who oversaw a cultural house that Aurelio owned. The Casa Poco Floro became a space that opened the doors to street art, photography, theatre, music (hip-hop), and other arts. It is there where I meet various multicultural artistic groups with a deep commitment to their community and who responded to our social and political problems.
For me, it was leaving a bubble, from studying business at one of the universities that represents the economic power of the country to being surrounded by friends whose struggle was every day and who organised collectively through art to demand basic rights. An improvement in your community. It was a big transition for me, but it has not been foreign. My parents arrived as migrants to fight their daily lives in the capital and give me the opportunity to have high-level studies in one of the most unequal landscapes in the world. I lived another reality from my parents, but upon meeting this community of artists, they inspired me to work not just for personal benefit and, without a doubt, it helped me strengthen my Andean identity and feel prouder of my roots.
I began to record hip-hop concerts, cultural events in different neighbourhoods of Lima, marches, and social processes accompanying art collectives. Little by little, I became like a kind of photojournalist. It is there where I feel the need to study photography. At the university I took several elective courses in the communications major. Then I took some photography workshops. I was lucky that [two] of my professors, the renowned photojournalists Jaime Rázuri and Ana Castañeda, recommended me to work in national media as a photojournalist. That's how I managed to get to Cusco. In 2013, I was a photojournalist correspondent for the newspaper La República in Cusco.
Studying photography in Peru as a professional career is very complicated; it is extremely expensive, and not all of us have the opportunity to do it. After 6 years as a photographer, I won a scholarship that allowed me to study the Master of Documentary Photography at the now-closed Image Centre.
In 2010, I started a business manufacturing and selling clothing. That year, I spent a month in Cusco visiting friends. Like my father, I felt compelled to document the trip through photography, so I asked him for one of his cameras.
There, in the imperial city, I meet Aurelio de la Guerra, a very talented multidisciplinary artist, to whom I propose to be the designer of the clothing brand and, observing my interest in photography, he recommends that I meet some photographer friends of his who oversaw a cultural house that Aurelio owned. The Casa Poco Floro became a space that opened the doors to street art, photography, theatre, music (hip-hop), and other arts. It is there where I meet various multicultural artistic groups with a deep commitment to their community and who responded to our social and political problems.
For me, it was leaving a bubble, from studying business at one of the universities that represents the economic power of the country to being surrounded by friends whose struggle was every day and who organised collectively through art to demand basic rights. An improvement in your community. It was a big transition for me, but it has not been foreign. My parents arrived as migrants to fight their daily lives in the capital and give me the opportunity to have high-level studies in one of the most unequal landscapes in the world. I lived another reality from my parents, but upon meeting this community of artists, they inspired me to work not just for personal benefit and, without a doubt, it helped me strengthen my Andean identity and feel prouder of my roots.
I began to record hip-hop concerts, cultural events in different neighbourhoods of Lima, marches, and social processes accompanying art collectives. Little by little, I became like a kind of photojournalist. It is there where I feel the need to study photography. At the university I took several elective courses in the communications major. Then I took some photography workshops. I was lucky that [two] of my professors, the renowned photojournalists Jaime Rázuri and Ana Castañeda, recommended me to work in national media as a photojournalist. That's how I managed to get to Cusco. In 2013, I was a photojournalist correspondent for the newspaper La República in Cusco.
Studying photography in Peru as a professional career is very complicated; it is extremely expensive, and not all of us have the opportunity to do it. After 6 years as a photographer, I won a scholarship that allowed me to study the Master of Documentary Photography at the now-closed Image Centre.
Themes of territory, beliefs, and identity are central to your projects. To what extent does your cultural background influence your approach to these themes?
Photography and hip-hop are tools that allow me to rediscover myself, accept myself, strengthen my Andean identity, and give me the possibility to express myself freely. Over the course of my life, one of the biggest questions has been my sense of belonging to a territory or an affinity group and my doubts about my Andean identity. Part of the themes that I portray go hand in hand with that question. I am totally interested in contemporary tools and proposals that embrace ancestry and the knowledge of our grandparents in search of revaluing our cultural heritage.
Peru is a country with all blood, where [mixing] makes it more complex and opens a range of hybrid identities. In this context, I also explore how hip hop, or its oral expression Rap, allows young generations to adopt a position with their Andean identity in current times. What does it mean to be indigenous in these times?
To make this idea clearer. I am the son of a Quechua speaker. I was born in the city and have lived in Cusco for 10 years. I definitely identify with the Andean culture, with the city culture and I embrace the indigenous origins. But from my personal point of view, I do not identify as indigenous as such. I am the son of a mixed race, and I have not experienced firsthand the social struggle of the communities. I do not consider that this boils down to whether you are Indigenous or you are not; it is more than black and white. On the contrary, there are some very interesting nuances that we can find. The communities of the Andes have also always been seen as if they were in a museum as if they could not adapt to these times. This project seeks to break that type of exoticism. This project puts into conversation the different perspectives and positions that we have with Quechua culture today.
Beliefs have also been an important part of my life. When you are a child in Peru, they explain to you at school that we are the descendants of the sun, from the various Andean cultures and especially the Inca culture. They tell us in the form of myths about the founding of Cusco, where Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo, children of Inti (Sun), emerge from Lake Titicaca and throw their golden rod, where it falls will found the Inca city. From my Andean family I have known some rituals, but orally, I have never been there.
After 2013, upon arriving in Cusco as a photojournalist, I found these myths becoming a reality. The Andean culture is alive; the solar rite is practiced with different festivities, rituals, and pilgrimages. Andean spirituality and its worldview are very present and adapt to the times, seeking new ways of expressing themselves. I became a pilgrim to the syncretic (Andean-Christian) festival of the Lord of Qoyllority, a pilgrimage to the foothills of the snow-capped Sinakara where they worship the image of Jesus Christ who appeared on a stone and is very miraculous. That stone is part of an ancient temple called huaca. With more than 30,000 visitors, and especially dancers who interpret ancient characters that dance in the sun and wait for it every sunrise when leaving the mountains. Having those experiences and adding them to my process of believing in the Andean identity does not have much of an explanation, but they do feed my sense of belonging. So I also bring these topics into conversation with my projects..
Peru is a country with all blood, where [mixing] makes it more complex and opens a range of hybrid identities. In this context, I also explore how hip hop, or its oral expression Rap, allows young generations to adopt a position with their Andean identity in current times. What does it mean to be indigenous in these times?
To make this idea clearer. I am the son of a Quechua speaker. I was born in the city and have lived in Cusco for 10 years. I definitely identify with the Andean culture, with the city culture and I embrace the indigenous origins. But from my personal point of view, I do not identify as indigenous as such. I am the son of a mixed race, and I have not experienced firsthand the social struggle of the communities. I do not consider that this boils down to whether you are Indigenous or you are not; it is more than black and white. On the contrary, there are some very interesting nuances that we can find. The communities of the Andes have also always been seen as if they were in a museum as if they could not adapt to these times. This project seeks to break that type of exoticism. This project puts into conversation the different perspectives and positions that we have with Quechua culture today.
Beliefs have also been an important part of my life. When you are a child in Peru, they explain to you at school that we are the descendants of the sun, from the various Andean cultures and especially the Inca culture. They tell us in the form of myths about the founding of Cusco, where Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo, children of Inti (Sun), emerge from Lake Titicaca and throw their golden rod, where it falls will found the Inca city. From my Andean family I have known some rituals, but orally, I have never been there.
After 2013, upon arriving in Cusco as a photojournalist, I found these myths becoming a reality. The Andean culture is alive; the solar rite is practiced with different festivities, rituals, and pilgrimages. Andean spirituality and its worldview are very present and adapt to the times, seeking new ways of expressing themselves. I became a pilgrim to the syncretic (Andean-Christian) festival of the Lord of Qoyllority, a pilgrimage to the foothills of the snow-capped Sinakara where they worship the image of Jesus Christ who appeared on a stone and is very miraculous. That stone is part of an ancient temple called huaca. With more than 30,000 visitors, and especially dancers who interpret ancient characters that dance in the sun and wait for it every sunrise when leaving the mountains. Having those experiences and adding them to my process of believing in the Andean identity does not have much of an explanation, but they do feed my sense of belonging. So I also bring these topics into conversation with my projects..
You have a deep commitment to social justice and cultural preservation. What drives you to focus on these issues, and how do you address the challenges of documenting marginalised communities while ensuring their stories are told with respect and authenticity? In your view, what role does photography play in preserving and promoting cultural heritage?
The collective processes with the hip-hop movement and other organisations have taught me to seek the benefit of our communities. See how projects can have an impact on the people you work with. Also, the experiences as a photojournalist for some media make you reflect on the way you work; this dynamic happens a lot when it is said that the photographer is a parachutist. We arrive at a place where one does one's job and then leaves. It has happened to me on many occasions to do reports for a few days, and then the project is published, which, although it is an important contribution to show an issue, the communities also begin to distrust. Communities also represent themselves in these times; their own residents are communicators, photographers, anthropologists, and more disciplines. When you arrive as an outsider to a space, you are creating bridges and working in alliance with community professionals; it is very important. Although they are communities that have been marginalised, we are also beginning to see these communities at the level of any global storyteller, sometimes with suddenly fewer resources but with a lot of ingenuity.
I have participated in residencies with audiovisual groups from various communities in Latin America and it is truly inspiring to learn about the proposals and reflections from the ancestral territories towards the ways of working. The communities are also tired of seeing how outsiders come to tell their problems. This allows us to become aware of co-creation and dialogue with the members involved so as not to fall into romanticisation, exoticization, and revictimization in the work. Be transparent with what you come to propose and comply with what [is] said. I have learned a lot from the communities, and I also seek to give back the same from their field.
I do not share the term “Cultural preservation” since it limits culture since it is dynamic. Cultural expressions adapt over time and, in many cases, maintain their essence. But I believe more in how culture is reinterpreted today. For example, the project Rap in its Roots, where I focus on the Quechua language. Some of the artists mix Spanish, English, and Quechua; they use new terms, and they create and reinterpret. That seems important to me because it responds to its time, but it can also be controversial, seen from a purist perspective. I believe in how important it is to revitalise languages through current tools such as photography, which are not only a witness to the facts but also participate in collective learning processes. Again, photography does not preserve; it is another tool that reinterprets our cultural legacy.
I have participated in residencies with audiovisual groups from various communities in Latin America and it is truly inspiring to learn about the proposals and reflections from the ancestral territories towards the ways of working. The communities are also tired of seeing how outsiders come to tell their problems. This allows us to become aware of co-creation and dialogue with the members involved so as not to fall into romanticisation, exoticization, and revictimization in the work. Be transparent with what you come to propose and comply with what [is] said. I have learned a lot from the communities, and I also seek to give back the same from their field.
I do not share the term “Cultural preservation” since it limits culture since it is dynamic. Cultural expressions adapt over time and, in many cases, maintain their essence. But I believe more in how culture is reinterpreted today. For example, the project Rap in its Roots, where I focus on the Quechua language. Some of the artists mix Spanish, English, and Quechua; they use new terms, and they create and reinterpret. That seems important to me because it responds to its time, but it can also be controversial, seen from a purist perspective. I believe in how important it is to revitalise languages through current tools such as photography, which are not only a witness to the facts but also participate in collective learning processes. Again, photography does not preserve; it is another tool that reinterprets our cultural legacy.
Prestigious publications such as National Geographic, The Atlantic, and the BBC have featured your work, and in 2019, you were named a National Geographic Explorer. In what ways have these platforms shaped your approach to storytelling, and what sense of responsibility do you feel when representing Peruvian culture to a global audience?
There are communities that open doors and provide opportunities for you. I greatly value the National Geographic Explorers community, which, in addition to supporting you in the production of a project, is a very large network of storytellers and other professionals from different disciplines at a regional and global level. Since 2021, I have been a Magnum Foundation scholarship recipient; this is another family that supports collaborative projects and provides very important learning spaces in my professional development. There is definitely a responsibility to represent Peruvian culture in media with a global reach. It is important not to fall into exoticism and romanticism in the themes and this is learned along the way when you fall into those spaces. Also, be clear that it is a point of view that we present in the projects; we do not seek to be spokespersons for a community but to seek a way in which they feel represented.
In your United by the Sun project, a collaboration with Diego López Calvin, you use solarigraphy to capture the sun's path across energetic places in Ticino. How did you learn about this technique, and how does it contribute to the project's exploration of ancestral connection and spiritual healing?
The story with the Spanish photographer Diego López is very special. I knew about the practice of Solarigraphy on the Internet; I say that it is practical because it is the sum of several techniques (direct blackening, lumen print, pinhole, and scanning digitisation). I followed his work on social networks. In 2019, he published a photobook called Punchaw, which means Daylight in the Quechua language and refers to a gold idol that represented the Sun for the Incas. Since arriving in Cusco, I have been investigating the relationship of the site with the inhabitants and the city that was the capital of the Andean civilisation. In 2020, he presented this book in Madrid, where Diego was able to attend. He gave me some cameras to do solarigraphy and that's how the friendship began. It is really powerful and inspiring to work with him; you can imagine two individuals obsessed with understanding the Sun and seeking to portray it starting to work together. Diego is a photographer by trade, an artisan of photosensitivity, with many years of experience, he is a mentor to me.
In 2022, he went to the Verzasca Valley, in the Canton of Ticino, Switzerland, to carry out an artistic residency in the Alpine territory. I found many similarities between the Andean and Alpine territories. Both spaces shaped by the montañas and the river leave a very rich cultural heritage in their inhabitants. I also perceived how mountain territory anywhere in the world can be a space that helps its inhabitants to start from scratch, to reconnect, to seek a healing process. Living in Cusco, you observe how thousands of tourists come to the Andes to reunite spiritually and learn more about the worldview of their ancestors. It's like a cliche that you find that connection in lands like the Andes, Mexico, India, and Nepal. In my experience, the alpine territory embraced me in that way; it connected me deeply with its natural landscape. In my head, it was, You don't have to have Machupicchu in your territory to feel the immensity of your ancestors. During the residency, I asked the inhabitants of Ticino what places are the oldest, and what are the vestiges of their ancestors. In search of these spaces, Jhaldara, a friend I met through the residence, lent me a book, Luoghi energetici in Ticino by Claudio Andretta. This researcher had located more than 60 places where the ancestors of the Alpine territory had left their mark and knowledge. From Hieroglyphs, Natural Sanctuaries, castles, etc. I wanted to portray these spaces and Solarigraphy helps to do so very well.
By placing pinhole cameras for more than 1 month, you are portraying the passage of the sun for a certain time. It's like putting eyes on stones. That same path of the sun is the one that the ancestors also observed. It also helps to make visible the relationship between the sun and a given landscape, reproducing images of a landscape like we have never seen before. The result was incredible. When we showed the images to the residents, the majority did not know these vestiges of their ancestors and it was very pleasant to share it. In some other way, these images sought to show its inhabitants the immensity of their ancestors.
In 2022, he went to the Verzasca Valley, in the Canton of Ticino, Switzerland, to carry out an artistic residency in the Alpine territory. I found many similarities between the Andean and Alpine territories. Both spaces shaped by the montañas and the river leave a very rich cultural heritage in their inhabitants. I also perceived how mountain territory anywhere in the world can be a space that helps its inhabitants to start from scratch, to reconnect, to seek a healing process. Living in Cusco, you observe how thousands of tourists come to the Andes to reunite spiritually and learn more about the worldview of their ancestors. It's like a cliche that you find that connection in lands like the Andes, Mexico, India, and Nepal. In my experience, the alpine territory embraced me in that way; it connected me deeply with its natural landscape. In my head, it was, You don't have to have Machupicchu in your territory to feel the immensity of your ancestors. During the residency, I asked the inhabitants of Ticino what places are the oldest, and what are the vestiges of their ancestors. In search of these spaces, Jhaldara, a friend I met through the residence, lent me a book, Luoghi energetici in Ticino by Claudio Andretta. This researcher had located more than 60 places where the ancestors of the Alpine territory had left their mark and knowledge. From Hieroglyphs, Natural Sanctuaries, castles, etc. I wanted to portray these spaces and Solarigraphy helps to do so very well.
By placing pinhole cameras for more than 1 month, you are portraying the passage of the sun for a certain time. It's like putting eyes on stones. That same path of the sun is the one that the ancestors also observed. It also helps to make visible the relationship between the sun and a given landscape, reproducing images of a landscape like we have never seen before. The result was incredible. When we showed the images to the residents, the majority did not know these vestiges of their ancestors and it was very pleasant to share it. In some other way, these images sought to show its inhabitants the immensity of their ancestors.
Your project, Rap on their Roots, exhibited at The Latin American Foto Festival in New York City, is about revaluing and revitalising identity using Quechua. Can you discuss the importance of the Quechua language revival, share insights about the featured artists, and how this project contributes to the revitalisation of Quechua culture?
I am part of a generation that did not directly learn the language of their ancestors, but we found a way to reconnect with our roots in other tools, such as hip-hop. Hip-hop is a very powerful tool that has no geographical or age barriers and allows it to reach a wide audience, especially youth, who can reflect on a movement that has become universal.
“Revival” is also an extreme term. Quechua culture was never dead, its practice has even proliferated in recent years. What I do consider is that hip hop revitalises the language and gives it other options for expression, which are consistent with this time, revaluing our ancestral knowledge. Quechua is the most spoken native language in the Americas. Discrimination against indigenous peoples prevented this knowledge from being transmitted en masse. Rap and hip hop are powerful vehicles of a cultural movement to form links between the ancestral and the present, creating an inclusive and intergenerational space for participants to recognise themselves, find their roots, and reinforce or affirm their multiple indigeneity within their community of origin or in the diaspora.
This project also seeks to break with the purism of the Andean identity. There are several dynamics in this movement. Quechua speakers now rap, the children of Quechua speakers learn Quechua through rap. A powerful story is that of Bobby Sanchez, a Peruvian American, a trans and indigenous activist rapper who has been producing poetic songs in Quechua, challenging racial and patriarchal patterns as a process of decolonisation and cultural resistance. Quechua does not only occur in Peruvian territory as well as hip hop is a culture that is reproduced in the world.
It is a great achievement that this project is exhibited in the Bronx, where hip-hop culture began. I think it is a way of telling the world how hip-hop has adapted to communities around the world through struggle, vindication, and revaluation.
Here, I also want to share with you the publication in National Geographic of this project, accompanied by a text worked on by the Quechua historian Renzo Aroni. It will give you a better idea of the landscape of this movement.
“Revival” is also an extreme term. Quechua culture was never dead, its practice has even proliferated in recent years. What I do consider is that hip hop revitalises the language and gives it other options for expression, which are consistent with this time, revaluing our ancestral knowledge. Quechua is the most spoken native language in the Americas. Discrimination against indigenous peoples prevented this knowledge from being transmitted en masse. Rap and hip hop are powerful vehicles of a cultural movement to form links between the ancestral and the present, creating an inclusive and intergenerational space for participants to recognise themselves, find their roots, and reinforce or affirm their multiple indigeneity within their community of origin or in the diaspora.
This project also seeks to break with the purism of the Andean identity. There are several dynamics in this movement. Quechua speakers now rap, the children of Quechua speakers learn Quechua through rap. A powerful story is that of Bobby Sanchez, a Peruvian American, a trans and indigenous activist rapper who has been producing poetic songs in Quechua, challenging racial and patriarchal patterns as a process of decolonisation and cultural resistance. Quechua does not only occur in Peruvian territory as well as hip hop is a culture that is reproduced in the world.
It is a great achievement that this project is exhibited in the Bronx, where hip-hop culture began. I think it is a way of telling the world how hip-hop has adapted to communities around the world through struggle, vindication, and revaluation.
Here, I also want to share with you the publication in National Geographic of this project, accompanied by a text worked on by the Quechua historian Renzo Aroni. It will give you a better idea of the landscape of this movement.
You've mentioned that the Peruvian hip-hop scene is connected to daily struggles. How do you see hip-hop as a tool for social change and cultural expression in Peru?
Hip-hop is a very broad movement; not all of this movement has a social and political interest. I learned about hip-hop from a movement organised in different neighbourhoods that sought to address the problems of their communities. Just as hip-hop was born in the Bronx to vindicate social struggles, it appears here in the same way. It is a space created by multidisciplinary; in hip-hop events, there is not only rap. Hip-hop is articulated with other disciplines, such as dance, theatre, history, photography, etc., that allow us to reflect on our collective history with children, young people, and adults.
In your photographs of the Peruvian hip-hop scene, you capture artists in their homes and communities; how do these intimate environmental portraits help to convey the authenticity and resilience of this movement?
During this project, I am interested in showing them not only as artists and rappers but also as fathers, mothers, children, and grandchildren. That's why you can see a lot of family and intergenerational portraits. Each person comes with a story that precedes us, so it is very important to bring them in images working with their families, who are part of their cultural heritage.
I do not seek to portray an ostentatious movement; I portray them from everyday life, where they create spaces that provide oxygen to a society that leaves much to be desired. I also find a constant of photographing them in their homes to show their microcosm, their most intimate space.
I do not seek to portray an ostentatious movement; I portray them from everyday life, where they create spaces that provide oxygen to a society that leaves much to be desired. I also find a constant of photographing them in their homes to show their microcosm, their most intimate space.
Your photographs are cinematic and filled with emotion and meaning. How do you achieve this stylistic quality in your work?
My photography practice was nourished for a long time by the so-called Street Photography. In this photographic genre, the authors I consumed were Ray Metzker, Harry Gruyaert, Alex Webb, etc., influenced by the painter Hopper. Lights and shadows are a resource that I explored in more depth when doing this work on the Sun in Cusco. Over time, I found a comfort zone where the images I produced were purely aesthetic, and the message was not so profound. The renowned Peruvian photographer and editor Musuk Nolte, who edited the book Punchaw pushed me to create from symbolism to generate images that are more evocative than informative. That stage helped me a lot to understand the image from the symbol. Before all these photographers mentioned, the first local reference I had was Juan Carlos Michilerio, a street artist, photographer and collage artist with a very visceral view of Lima. It was the first reference that literally blew my mind; it was the first work of authorship I knew. Juan Carlos was that photographer that Aurelio de la Guerra recommended to me at the Poco Floro house.
The rap project and the one I have developed in other communities push me to work with other people. I have been adding the premise Cultural heritage and Transmission of knowledge to the images I want to create. Again, you will see that in my latest photographic projects. Portraits have a very strong family burden, seeking to show what we inherit from our fathers, mothers, grandparents, etc.
The rap project and the one I have developed in other communities push me to work with other people. I have been adding the premise Cultural heritage and Transmission of knowledge to the images I want to create. Again, you will see that in my latest photographic projects. Portraits have a very strong family burden, seeking to show what we inherit from our fathers, mothers, grandparents, etc.
How do you hope your work impacts the communities you photograph, particularly indigenous and marginalised groups?
I don't want to romanticise collective work, although it is a necessary process, but it is very difficult. We have had processes of group separation and reunification. It's like family; it's not always good. You also distance yourself and then reflect on those processes. That is why we do not measure projects in final results. They are processes of years that have allowed us to value the good moments and the bad.
In the case of rap, it is a community that I am part of. You know the differences between its members, the different points of opinion. Sometimes, it is difficult to bring together all points of view on a project. That is one of the most important challenges. I believe that trust and respect are gained over time when they see that the work not only wants to talk about what is beautiful but also questions our problems as human groups. In addition, the communities observe that work practices seek to have an impact on them and not only on the world to make visible a problem, and this generates trust.
It also happens that one does not have the time to work with all the people in a territory. And sometimes the question arises: Why is he or she in your project and I'm not? Or worse still, when you portrayed someone, and they ask you why my photo and my testimony did not appear in the publication, generating jealousy in the community. Given this, honesty from the beginning is basic, communicating what these publication processes are like, which does not depend on you. But we can work on projects where we are the filters and the work with the community can be fairer. In my experience, it has been gratifying that projects have this dynamic and can talk directly with the community to know what their expectations are and how we can help those objectives. The reward is knowing that your work has functionality for the communities and that they feel well represented. The reward is also learning from each collective process and their knowledge as a community, working in reciprocity. [We] share from our knowledge. Adding the practice of solarigraphy to the projects, we offer workshops to young people, community members, etc. Also, with hip-hop, we have developed audiovisual workshops for rappers who are storytellers and have many tools to tell stories again. The work is more powerful if done in the community.
In the case of rap, it is a community that I am part of. You know the differences between its members, the different points of opinion. Sometimes, it is difficult to bring together all points of view on a project. That is one of the most important challenges. I believe that trust and respect are gained over time when they see that the work not only wants to talk about what is beautiful but also questions our problems as human groups. In addition, the communities observe that work practices seek to have an impact on them and not only on the world to make visible a problem, and this generates trust.
It also happens that one does not have the time to work with all the people in a territory. And sometimes the question arises: Why is he or she in your project and I'm not? Or worse still, when you portrayed someone, and they ask you why my photo and my testimony did not appear in the publication, generating jealousy in the community. Given this, honesty from the beginning is basic, communicating what these publication processes are like, which does not depend on you. But we can work on projects where we are the filters and the work with the community can be fairer. In my experience, it has been gratifying that projects have this dynamic and can talk directly with the community to know what their expectations are and how we can help those objectives. The reward is knowing that your work has functionality for the communities and that they feel well represented. The reward is also learning from each collective process and their knowledge as a community, working in reciprocity. [We] share from our knowledge. Adding the practice of solarigraphy to the projects, we offer workshops to young people, community members, etc. Also, with hip-hop, we have developed audiovisual workshops for rappers who are storytellers and have many tools to tell stories again. The work is more powerful if done in the community.
Can you share a memorable moment or interaction from your time documenting the hip-hop scene in Peru that has left a lasting impact on you?
There are many memorable moments. But I think one of the important points is to see the community's reaction to the images you produce over time. As it has been 14 years of playing hip-hop in Peru together with other fellow photographers, I remember that a couple of years ago, I published the first years of that documentation on a platform called Retina Latina. I began to receive messages from the people portrayed, giving great value to the importance of that archive, which makes us remember collective processes that worked, and others did not. And that path has made us what we are now. It is very gratifying that the work you do has meaning for the community.
For young photographers and visual storytellers, particularly those from underrepresented communities who aspire to use their work as a tool for social change and cultural empowerment, what advice would you offer based on your own experiences, challenges, and lessons learned throughout your career?
I encourage you to believe and trust in your personal stories and in the stories of your communities, which are global stories. Sharing your way of seeing the world makes us closer and with fewer differences. Don't get discouraged if things don't go well the first time. It takes time. These processes are very long and make sense as the years go by. It is okay to make mistakes. It is very important to ask ourselves: Who do we work for? And why do we do these projects? It helps us reaffirm our foundations and be a little clearer about what our objective is as an individual and as a community.
Looking ahead, what new projects or collaborations are you currently working on, and how do they build upon the themes and techniques you've explored in your previous work? What are your long-term goals as a photographer and documentarian, and how do you see your work evolving in the future?
Currently, we have just published the project The Legacy of the Stone together with Diego López Calvin with support from the World Monuments Fund and Magnum Foundation, where we portray the cultural and material heritage of the community of Miraflores, located in the Nor Yauyos-Cochas Landscape Reserve, in the mountains of Lima. The images show the passage of time through families, the changes in the landscape, and the path of the sun. They address the concerns of Miraflores about an uncertain future, but also the hope of building opportunities and a positive legacy for future generations.
This project has been very important for me because, for the first time in my career, we premiered a project, in this case of Legado de la Piedra, in the community. We developed an exhibition in the streets of Miraflores. The reception from the residents was incredible. They felt very proud of their community and their heritage. It was, in some way, a reminder of the invaluable knowledge they possess. Above all, we returned with the material for them to use.
As a creator, I'm exploring other tools. Photography is also not enough to develop projects. For example, in Rap in its Roots, we did audiovisual and rap workshops with young people in urban-rural territories, where we produced a Rap EP in the Quechua language. Adding video, music, graffiti, and other resources to our practice as storytellers makes the project have a greater impact. I would like to see myself developing multidisciplinary projects for a few years that continue to have an impact on the territories where they work.
Spotify EP “Hanpiq Rimay”:
This project has been very important for me because, for the first time in my career, we premiered a project, in this case of Legado de la Piedra, in the community. We developed an exhibition in the streets of Miraflores. The reception from the residents was incredible. They felt very proud of their community and their heritage. It was, in some way, a reminder of the invaluable knowledge they possess. Above all, we returned with the material for them to use.
As a creator, I'm exploring other tools. Photography is also not enough to develop projects. For example, in Rap in its Roots, we did audiovisual and rap workshops with young people in urban-rural territories, where we produced a Rap EP in the Quechua language. Adding video, music, graffiti, and other resources to our practice as storytellers makes the project have a greater impact. I would like to see myself developing multidisciplinary projects for a few years that continue to have an impact on the territories where they work.
Spotify EP “Hanpiq Rimay”:
