(some kind of Manifesto)
Polaroid images are alive. They are born, they change, sometimes they die. It matters how warm it is the day you kame them, how wet, what time of day or year. It matters how old the film was before it was opened and there is no way to make an identical copy, a REAL identical copy. You can scan it, photograph it, take a polaroid picture again. It will never be the same, it will never be that.
Because or despite they are flawed, impossible, nerving, wasteful and expensive…God damn!, they are expensive, I love them.
As a society we try to correct everything (teeth, personalities, who we love), we try to discover techniques to eradicate failure (autocorrect, digitization, war for believing in the wrong God), but what I seek are flaws. “Fingerprints” of a dusty old reflex mirror, flair from an ancient lens, the metal feel of an old body, ah! and the weight. I am happy in my own state or art. The mechanical & chemical feels so sexy.
I want to capture emotions on people’s bodies with a camera that can feel as much as I do. I want to become an Analogue Witch.