Wara Vargas

I live in the city of La Paz, Bolivia. In a neighbourhood full of culture, rituals, popular markets, and ancestral traditions that dialogue with the Pachamama (Mother Earth). This is the place where my stories are born.

From dreaming about the Chola Muses Sueña in 2015 to being able to photograph it in 2017, I feel that this series has had its own energy. In it live the strength and struggle of my Chola grandmother, along with the power of the women portrayed, who have accompanied my dream and made this photographic series possible. The first time Sueña was exhibited, I felt that it was no longer mine, now it belonged to all the people who have been inspired by it.  I am thrilled to see how people are inspired and amazed by the photos, just as I am every time I am able to attend their exhibitions. Sueña was able to  be invited to several exhibitions, without me doing anything to move her [it]. I became a companion who sometimes could travel with her [it] and sometimes not. That made me feel like a mother watching her daughter grow up. 

My first international group exhibition was several years ago in New York City. I came to this city to be able to see my photo hanging in a hall. I was just starting my journey in photography and felt insecure about showing my roots and culture. Now I am back after a long journey of learning, of looking at my people, my family and ancestors with respect and pride. And I am very happy that Sueña is exhibited in this city, because now I know that the path I took inside my being was coherent and above all honest. Sueña is now in New York, in the United States, where migrant families from Bolivia live. Most of them are women who come from indigenous roots, from Chola mothers and grandmothers. Some of them may have had to give up their Chola dress, their traditional costumes, to be able to work in this city. I hope Sueña can inspire you and strengthen your ties to our roots and I'm sure when you see the photos you will feel proud to be Bolivian just like me.

I don't have a defined routine, I just feel what each series needs. Each project I have started has been a school. I think there is no recipe to get into the right mental space, but I feel that silence helps to look calmly and serenely and to be able to approach the stories with sincerity and affection. The idea of Sueña was born from a beautiful dream and that's why it has that name. The inspiration for my dream surely comes from my admiration for Chola women, like my grandmother and great-grandmother.

My father started me in photography, he is a [visual] artist and was always passionate about photography. That's why since I was little I was able to go into a lab and see how it is developed. I remember that when I was a child I thought that something magical happened when the images appeared on the photographic paper. In those images time stopped and I could always remember that moment. So it was that, since I was a child, with my first camera, I played at stopping time.

My parents have different roots, my maternal grandmother was from Chile and my paternal grandmother was Chola, like her mother who only spoke Quechua. These two women from the Quechua culture have been my inspiration.  I grew up hearing racist phrases and denigrating acts towards Chola women. My father, a Quechua [visual] artist, son and grandson of indigenous women, fought with art to vindicate the indigenous struggle of Bolivia. My father perhaps traced a path for me and in some way inspired me, but I also feel that the struggles come from personal experiences — my grandmother lives in my skin colour, in my Andean features, and also in what I have felt for many years in white environments. I don't need to be a Chola woman to have felt discriminated against for being Bolivian. This is also where my inspiration comes from. 

I have [spent] many years working as a photojournalist for national and international media and in my archive there are very important moments in the political and cultural history of my country. Each one is also an important part of my personal history, but the photos that I love the most and mean the most to me are those of my family, especially my mother.

Everything you mention has happened over many years. I have had seasons where I wanted to see many exhibitions and be part of festivals, despite being a very shy person. Those were times when the world of photography was opening up to me and somehow I was curious, because I also had the feeling that I needed to learn more. As the years went by I moved away from contests and festivals because I feel that they can condition what we have to look at and photograph of the world and they can also condition the aesthetics we have to have. I don't consider it good or bad, when one is faithful and honest with one's work, but some contests can be excluding when they have themes. 

This occasion is different because they invite Sueña, as it is. With its possible imperfections because it was done in a very empirical way. For me to make it was a practice, and it was created without any expectations, the only motivation was to make the dream come true. There was no money involved, nor did I think of having financing, it came from the heart of all the colleagues who believed in the dream. I think the festival sees that in Sueña, and accepted it by discovering it through their own means and not because I was looking for them to find it. 

I want the Bolivian community to feel that they are part of the cultural movement in this city, and I want the humbler migrant workers who see the photos to feel proud of their roots. I also hope that people who do not have Latin roots will admire these indigenous muses. I feel that one role of photography is also to create imaginaries that change the way we look at indigenous peoples and Latino communities.

During the Covid-19 pandemic, I accompanied a community of blind people who earn money by singing in the street, asking for people's collaboration. With the quarantine, this community was left with no income. I accompanied and supported them during the long quarantines and learned a lot from them, about how they live the world without being able to see it. A world where images of empty streets and massive deaths were daily occurrences. I learned about the role of the image to generate fear and about what society cares to look at or show. These people were not on the public aid agenda, they were blind people that no one wanted to see. I am glad that my documentation helped this community to be seen by the authorities and supported with food to survive the quarantine.

In my work as a photojournalist I have witnessed acts of violence and death, these are moments that are not forgotten and are forever marked in the memory. But I feel that in my documentary work I have suffered the most from the deaths when creating bonds of friendship with the stories I accompany. There I have questioned to what extent I want or can generate links, but it is inevitable to generate them because you get to have a lot of closeness and commitment to the stories.

For a few years now I have been getting closer to spiritual life, and I am learning more and more about the Andean cosmovision and the connection we have with Pachamama (mother earth), through rituals. I am slowly entering this world, being part of it, and I hope in a few years to have a series that talks about the rituals and sacred places of my country.