El Brujo Photography

[elbrujophotography]

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I’m not really sure if I’m looking for something that has already found me. 

[soundsof71]

[soundsof71]

Patti Smith visiting Jim Morrison’s grave in Paris, 1975, by Claude Gassian.

“something new is coming down and we got to be alert to feel it happening. something new and totally ecstatic. the politics of ecstasy move all around me. I refuse to believe Hendrix had the last possessed hand that Joplin had the last drunken throat that Morrison had the last enlightened mind. they didn’t slip their skins and split forever for us to hibernate in posthumous jukeboxes.

they are gone and we’re still moving.“

~ Patti Smith, “Jukebox Cruci-fix,” CREEM, June 1975.

[elbrujophotography]

creo que en el futuro, me miro sin ti. 

Creo que un dia yo te dejare y tu me dejaras. 

eso es el destino. 

nadie puede cambiar el destino.

[elbrujophotography]

I’ve never been really good at losing. As a child, I used to keep all my toys arranged.  Everything had its own spot.  When a toy was found outside of the arrangement, I used to question its loyalty to me.  I would then grab the toy and head to my backyard where I would throw it in the air and make it get stuck in a tree branch. I would patiently wait for the next thunderstorm or windy day.  Everyday, I would go outside and make sure that the toy was still stuck in the tree branch.  Sometimes I would wait for months until the perfect gust of wind would knock it off, unto the earth. I cannot say that I did not miss the toy, but it had to prove loyalty to me. 

Now, as I am older, I find myself doing the same thing to people in my life. I like to push them to some sort of edge.  The edge of a high cliff where I throw arrows.  You either get struck by the arrows and take me as I am or you pussy out and jump off the cliff.  Jumping off the cliff, consequently, also means jumping out of my life. I cannot explain this mentality, just how I cannot explain my toy ritual as a child.  I should also point out that only one person in my life has proven impenetrable by my arrows.  I think that I fall in love too easily and that is why it always ends up like that. 

The photographs above depict a moment of meditation.  Trying to find solace and clarity after feeling like I was losing myself.  Insecurities can sort of creep up like a roach at night.  The feeling of “you're not enough” is not easy to shake off. I found myself wanting to do all these things differently to try to appeal to someone.  However, changing the outside appearance of something/yourself is worthless when the inside is rotten.  Thats what I have been doing for the last couple of weeks.  Getting rid of those toxic thoughts and impurities of the mind.  Surely, feeling like loving someone is not enough also brings down the ego.  I’ve beat myself senseless in this regard, and even now, I am stuck in the complexity of the subject.  I often cannot find the right words to explain this particular situation.  Perhaps, because there was never a real situation.  Ever just make things up in your head? In the matters of love, is there a loser? Do people end up losing or does love itself become the loser? Love is a losing game.  In the end, you get tired of staring at the ceiling and walk outside and look up at the limitless sky.  We are often enclosed by ceilings, four walls, cellphones, cars, and authority.  We are free. With this mentality, I am shaking my dreams from my hair. I get along without you very well.

The other day I went to the bar and proceeded to get very drunk.  I managed to scribble this poem on a bar napkin:

I used to believe you owned me

That perhaps love had changed me

The truth is-- 

You don't own anymore

Than what I own.

Jovan lives on his own accord.

I tried to tie myself up.

When in reality,

I WAS THE MOST FREE

Like a bullet shot into an empty night sky

[elbrujophotography]

These days I find myself going through memories.  Memories in different platforms.  memories in old bar napkins, photographs, dirty clothes and my favorite shoes.  I often wonder if capsulated moments will outlive me.  I often wonder if capsulated moments play in an endless loop for our mind to visit.  If so, then life becomes a film reel.  These days I find myself going through my film reel.  I’ve always enjoyed a raw cinematic experience. 

The recent failure of a design job has left me with more time on my hands.  I have so much thinking to do.  I wake up and have a coffee, a cigaret, and I get dressed. I cannot begin to say how truly wonderful this is.  I feel like my life has been on this insane roller coaster for quite some time and it is nice to finally relax and do the simple things that I love to do.  A stroll on Washington Square park is always nice.  Some coffee from my favorite coffee place is also very pleasant.  Who knows when I will decide to end this slow road, but for now it is keeping me very happy.  Today, my re-occuring thought is simple:  I really like the person I grew up to become. 

Jovan.

These series of photographs were taken on a very drunken night.  I have had a headache for several weeks.  I remember I got home from work very agitated with the headache.  It was a beautiful night. We were in the 60 degrees. “Fuck it. Let’s go have a whiskey,” I said to Gloria.  She put on tights and her black shorts, which were then paired with her favorite white heels.  She then put on a black leather jacket.  I threw on a Lennon shirt and was wearing my favorite grey beanie that a friend had gotten for me from Paris.  I remember we drank a lot that night.  Then we met a rather short guy from Honduras that seemed to be fascinated with me.  He told us that it was his second day in New York and he was working construction.  He hardly knew any English.  He bought us tequila shots.  When it was time for him to pay, he pulled out a hundred dollar bill.  To his demise, the bar did not accept large bills. He seemed terribly embarrassed and kept insisting to us that he had money, “Yo tengo dinero. Yo tengo dinero y voy a pagar por ustedes.” It’s hard for me to think about what I thought in that moment.  Perhaps, it was the fact that I did not care at all.  I was rather feeling the shot and I was appreciative, but I also was ready to go back home.  The bartender had no choice but to give us the shots for free.  Gloria grabbed an orange that they had lingering at the bar for the old fashioned. I remember grabbing two limes and stuffing them in my bag.  We closed our tabs and we skipped along the vaguely lit streets back to our building.  Upon entering our building, we decided to grab the camera and head to the roof.  After we were done photographing, we threw the oranges and limes down into the street from our rooftop.  Months passed by and it was almost like we had forgotten about this night.  On a strangely warm October day, I went to the rooftop to bring a table down that we had spotted.  When I made it up the five flights of stairs unto the roof, there was my grey beanie.  I was so happy to realize that my beautiful beanie from Paris had witness many Brooklyn storms pass by and waited for me with loyalty.  It is safe to say that the beanie is one of my favorite pieces that I own. The only evidence that exists of that night are in these simple, but beautiful, photographs of young rebellion on a Brooklyn night. 

[elbrujophotography]

Here is part One of my ‘Jovan.’ series that will be two parts.  Second part is coming very soon. The video is meant to show certain emotions felt before my New York Move. 

[elbrujophotography]

                                         The Filter Not Chosen

As the world dives into a world where it is being constantly divided and re-imagined in photo filters, here are raw photos.  No extra lighting, but the one provided from the city.  Unsuspected patrons of the theatre show that is New York City.  No angle too ugly or unfocused. No building too tall.  No side walk ever appearing clean.  This is the New York I know and see everyday.  I wanted to capture it.  Not for you, but for me. A reminder that I am young, capable, vulnerable, lonely and proud in this city.  These are my corners of the night where the street becomes desolate and nothing is louder than my drunken thoughts walking home. These are the same streets where famous, and infamous, icons walked into their next big chance to make something of themselves.  The structure of every photograph being shown, dictate my feelings at the time of being shot. 

This is The Filter Not Chose, because instead of me adding a filter, I have added a void for you to dive in and rediscover something in my photographs. 

[elbrujophotography]

Thursday, April 9th, 2015. 

I awoke smelling the lingering whiskey taste in my mouth. Maker’s Mark was the drink of choice the night before.  We stayed up talking about drunk college nights and how some alumni disappeared. Johnny left at 4:32 a.m.  I went to bed. I was up in two hours getting ready for work. I threw on my clothes and went to the bathroom to freshen up.  I looked at the clock, no chance for a shower.  I wore my ripped blue jeans, work shirt, black sweater, black leather jacket and white Converse.  I sped walked to the subway and made it right on time.  I rode the M train and transferred to the 6 train going uptown.  I was a bit early and went to grab a coffee.  Typical morning.

Except, it was not. 

I had my interview for a theatre internship with The Wooster Group.  I had been looking forward to it all week and today seemed to be the day.  All day at work I kept looking at the perfectly grey sky.  The perfect shade of grey.  After work I rushed home with anticipation. Gloria had set up her laptop on her night stand and it pointed towards the closet.  When I got home, it had already been recording for 2 hours and 16 minutes.  She warned me not to move it or touch it.  I didn't. I ate something really fast and jumped in the shower. I had already picked out my outfit the night before.  My black skinny jeans with the lock that cannot be opened, because I lost the keys.  I wanted to feel a bit of a Sid Vicious vibe.  A white button down shirt for a bit of a Jim Morrison suave stance.  I threw on some suspenders for a bit of a 70′s feel.  All of this was going on as I played John Lennon’s and Yoko Ono’s Double Fantasy record.  I simply hummed along. I was so nervous that I even matched my socks.  It was easy to pick the shoes, because these little brown leather boots had gotten me through the hottest days and the most cold days in the city.  They had been everywhere. The sole is slowly wearing out of them, but they looked ready for the challenge of the day.  I threw on my leather jacket and lit up a cigaret. Double Fantasy was coming to an end.  I paced the room occasionally glancing at the still recording laptop. 3 hours and 37 minutes it marked. Shit, I was running late.  I grabbed my portfolio which held my resume and a few pictures of some shows that I had designed.  I also threw in there a black journal with notes, a pen from Black Swan (a bar in Bedstuy), a sharpie marker, and a picture of Andy Warhol.  Only because I remember the story of a young Andy looking for a job in New York City when he first moved and one day when he opened his portfolio, a roach crawled out of it.  He was so embarrassed, but ended up getting the job, because the employer felt so bad that had happened.  The photograph of Warhol was my roach for the day.  In a beautiful green light Warhol would shine out of my portfolio and he would land me that theatre internship.  

I hurried to the train station and it was not long until the M train came roaring along the tracks.  I jumped on.  I sat and put the portfolio between my legs.  I grabbed the handle tightly.  At this moment, the portfolio held proof of my life’s work.  I rode the M train to Essex and then got off to board unto a Brooklyn bound F train.  I didn't wait for long and I hoped on the F line.  We roared on to the stop East Broadway.  No one got out or in.  The next stop was York Street, my stop.  Once we got to the stop, I checked the time.  6:10 pm.  The meeting place was only a couple of blocks away.  I felt as if I was flying past the blocks. Portfolio in hand, I was a vision.

I was invincible. 

I was the boy who I had always seen in my dreams.  

This was my moment. Nothing could have taken it away. 

Photo: Self Portrait. El Brujo Photography. 2015. Bushwick, Brooklyn. 

[elbrujophotography]

Through the years, I have seen my life through flashes of whiskey induced dreams.  I have flashes of old and new bar nights that have separated, even infiltrated, the reality of circumstances.  It is almost like my life’s memories have been stored in a film canister, waiting for only the right hands to process the shots.  I suppose that this blog is me finally letting go of the assumption that these thoughts/photographs/rants are not important. 

I can't promise that it will be edited daily.  I can't even promise that you will understand most of the posts.  I also have no desire to even please you, as the reader. I am hopeful that perhaps a post or two will take you on a journey. On my journey.  Take this page as a random night at a bar, where you have had too much whiskey, but you order another one. One more. The next day, you awake in your bed. You have no idea how you got there and you have last night’s clothes on.  Faded Memories. 

Faded Memories. 

That can explain this blog in two words. 

Perhaps, I am simply hung over and these are my faded memories...

Model: Jovan

Camera: Glorivan in collaboration with El Brujo Photography

*Somewhere in Bedstuy, Brooklyn, NY. 2014

[elbrujophotography]

Right Eye 001

life through the right eye.

The Right Eye series is inspired by Nick Knight’s video, The Left Eye.  The Right Eye series is simply a spliced montage of things seen in and around New York City.  Imagine this series as a dream where every day moments have been chopped up and reworked. It is almost like an overactive imagination has taken a camera and began to shoot.