I know that you have a very special relationship with Mexico City, and you were born and raised in Brooklyn. So, if Mexico City and New York were people, what do you think their relationship would be?
New York is definitely colder—I don’t mean temperature-wise—and more stressed out. This relationship is so significant to my book, because Samantha and I kind of take the place of representing these two spaces. They’re similar in a lot of ways, because they’re both crazy cities, but they move at very, very different rhythms. Of course, I have a very specific view of the city, but Mexico City is such a huge place that I haven’t even touched on everything yet. In the same way that I started thinking about me and Samantha, which was sort of a joke at first that turned into an actual creative idea, was that they’re kind of like alter egos—very similar, but again, rhymically and emotionally very different. When I think of New York, I think of high-strung, every person for herself, hustling, whereas Mexico is like a big community, and relaxed—at least what I’ve been exposed to. New York is really out there, and Mexico City is very mysterious, there is so much there at is—it sounds bad to say, but underground, or unseen.
What’s so interesting about Mexico City, to me, is that it feels like every zone, neighborhood, district, is basically a different world in a way that New York doesn’t. I feel like that’s a lot of pressure for me to put on Samantha and myself as the ‘spokespeople’ for these two places, but I think that a big part of Progreso is us becoming so close and realizing how similar we are, even though we come from two culturally dissimilar places, and finding really interesting parallels between our lives.
I know I’m friends with someone when we can sit in silence together, but it doesn’t feel forced or awkward. For you, what’s that little signifier of friendship?
When you can poop in front of each other—no, I’m just kidding. I think—and this might tie into the last question, as well, because it has a lot to do with Mexico City and the welcoming that I felt. Here, I have close friends who are like brothers and sisters to me, and we hug and touch each other, and it’s intimate, but I feel like culturally, there is such a difference in the way that people interact.
When I was in Mexico City, there was a lot of touching, there’s a lot of love. I didn’t grow up with a cold family or anything like that, but I definitely noticed that cultural difference—just being hugged and touched by people all the time. I mean, Samantha holds my hand all the time, and it’s just such a funny thing that really made me feel at home, and filled in something that I never really had. Then again, I think that differs between friends and family—it must be something about when you break the ice and realize that someone makes you feel safe; or maybe there’s some sort of information that comes out and your realize, ‘Okay, this person gets me and I get them,’ which is also a funny thing, because I’m almost fluent in Spanish and Samantha is almost fluent in English, but there’s always been a little bit of a barrier between us. But aside from all of these barriers, like language, distance, time zone—to be able to really get that close to someone and actually be able to hear them and understand them is really something. Over there, it just felt like I always had a hand on my back—and I mean this both physically and metaphorically. I always felt supported.
That’s rare. The concept of the muse and the male gaze has always been something you like to explore within your work. As a female photographer who, by nature, understands all of the complexities of the female reality, what do you think the discrepancy might be between the way in which you capture the female body and the way in which a male photographer might do the same?
I was just listening to a conversation about touching the subject on set in fashion photography. I forgot the specifics, but a photographer kept moving the models and touching them without consent, and I just couldn’t believe that this type of situation is still going on. Obviously, I photograph people and I ask if they could move their hand and so on, but I don’t understand that dynamic without asking for consent and an open dialogue. There is just so much entitlement as a photographer—especially as a male photographer. When someone is behind your lense, they aren’t just a model, or a thing, for me—they aren’t just this object that I have complete control over. Even though this sentiment is being challenged a lot right now, it just blows my mind that there’s still not an established dialogue around that, and that you don’t ask people if you can pull their skirt up—you just do it. So, that’s a lot about what the show and the book have to do with for me—the concept of the muse, and that the dialogue doesn’t end there.
I mean, of course I do fashion work, but every photo in this show is a lot more documentary-style, a lot more candid. I just think that that’s what’s so special to me about the work—being able to have that conversation, and the fact that I didn’t do anything without people’s permission. And the dialogue extends even to the end—the final product of showing the work. It’s having that person transcend the space of just the photograph—giving the subject a say in what happens and making them part of the process as much as I can. Just as a woman, I want to represent someone the same way I would want to be represented, and I think that extends to actually showing and selling the work, because I don’t want to sell anything that a person doesn’t want to be sold.
A friend of mine, Laura Sage—she and I have had this constant dialogue about what it means to be taking photos, not just as a woman, but being a white woman taking photos of a black woman, and the idea of profiting off of people's bodies and what that means. She has really helped me start a dialogue around the idea that sometimes work shouldn’t belong to everyone—sometimes work should just be for us. Then we started this whole conversation about how the proceeds and how they will be allocated were to be decided by the subject herself. For me, it’s not about making a profit, it’s about extending the conversation of what a muse is.
‘Progreso 110’ is out now and will be available for purchase at the office Newsstand.