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  • Entrenamientos de la seleccion argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-12.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la seleccion argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-08.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la seleccion argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-11.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la seleccion argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-09.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la seleccion argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-06.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la seleccion argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-05.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la seleccion argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-03.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la selección argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-07.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la seleccion argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-04.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la selección argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-01.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la seleccion argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-10.JPG
  • Entrenamientos de la seleccion argentina de futbol no vidente (Los Murcielagos), en el Centro Nacional de Alto Rendimiento Deportivo (CENARD), previos al mundial de futbol para invidentes realizado en agosto del 2010, en Hereford, Inglaterra.
    LAT01-09-barrpab-02.JPG
  • Horacito, 21 ans (lleva el mismo nombre que su padre y que su abuelo), sale con sus amigos por el Río de La Plata.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-07.JPG
  • La familia Bossi posa frente a su casa del Barrio San Jorge.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-12.JPG
  • Mercedes abre su BMW para regresar a su hogar después de un día en el colegio Bilingüe de Saint George North, también ubicado dentro del barrio privado.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-08.JPG
  • Ceci has to wear high heels as part of her attire on a daily basis.  Her feet suffer after hours of straight dancing day after day.  Ceci is 20 years old and has been dancing tango since the age of 11.  Her life and passion swirl around the sensual tango dance on the streets of El Caminito in Buenos Aires.  Here, she earns tips from tourists who watch her twirl and kick while they eat their meals.  Ceci's passion was handed down from her grandparents who started taking her to Milongas at a young age.  She tries to balance her work with her university, but most of her energy goes to dancing.  Here is a slice of the life of a tango dancer in the streets of Buenos Aires.
    LAT01-16-RunaKG-A-09.JPG
  • Ceci and Meme at a gay Milonga in Buenos Aires.
    LAT01-16-RunaKG-A-18.JPG
  • Ceci and Meme outside a Milonga in Buenos Aires after a long night of working and partying.
    LAT01-16-RunaKG-A-19.JPG
  • Ceci goes to school after work in a taxi when she is too late to take the bus.
    LAT01-16-RunaKG-A-12.JPG
  • Ceci and Meme after her birthday party when everyone came to her house and spent the night.
    LAT01-16-RunaKG-A-17.JPG
  • The tips are split among all the dancers of a restaurant at the end of the night.
    LAT01-16-RunaKG-A-11.JPG
  • Ceci in her house with her family on her birthday.
    LAT01-16-RunaKG-A-16.JPG
  • Ceci dances with Meme most of the time.  It is better to have a partner who knows her movements and with whom she can practice tango coreographies.
    LAT01-16-RunaKG-A-10.JPG
  • Ceci gets into a fight with her boss at one of the restaurants in El Caminito.  She was late because she was at school.  She eventually got fired from this place.
    LAT01-16-RunaKG-A-15.JPG
  • People watch Ceci and Meme dance outside one of the restaurants in El Caminito.
    LAT01-16-RunaKG-A-13.JPG
  • Vista desde el interior del barrio Privado. Fundado en 1988, el country San Jorge Village fue construido sobre las tierras la familia Alzaga, una de las familias mas importante de la aristocracia Argentina. El barrio se encuentra a 30 kilometros de la ciudad de Buenos Aires. <br />
Serie: Argentina, Buenos Aires. Segun datos de 2011, en la region metropolitana, el 38% de la poblacion accedio a la clase media alta, como resultado del crecimiento economico acumulado de los ultimos a?os. Este sector se identifica como el principal impulsor del boom del consumo, destinando las mejoras de su ingreso anual (+11%, periodo 2006-2011) a la compra masiva de vehiculos, electrodomesticos,  viajes, servicios de medicina y educacion privada.<br />
Surgidos a partir de un decreto-ley de la última dictadura militar que fomentó su establecimiento, los countries conocieron su primer apogeo durante la neoliberal década de los '90. En palabras de la socióloga Maristella Svampa, en ese momento el virtual desmantelamiento del Estado y la seguridad social provocaron un fenómeno palpable de segregación en distintos niveles: mientras las clases populares conocieron un período de profundización de su situación de marginalidad y se multiplicaron los asentamientos precarios y las villas miseria, en paralelo, las clases medias y medias altas se refugiaron en su capacidad de gestionar privadamente la salud, la educación y la seguridad de sus familias, eligiendo como contexto de existencia los barrios cerrados o countries. La historia de esta familia es similar a la de las casi 290.000 personas que eligen vivir hoy en forma permanente en alguno de los 700 barrios cerrados del conurbano bonaerense argentino. Su historia es un relato de ascenso económico que narra la construcción de una vida ideal, cimentada en los consumos culturales, materiales y simbólicos que la clase media alta tiene como horizonte.La familia  (Horacio, su mujer Silvina y sus hijos Mercedes, Horacito y Titi) vive en el coun
    18-2-Sub-Coop-01.JPG
  • ESPAÑOL: Emblema de lujo, utilizada para el traslado de políticos y rock stars en los anos ‘80, la limusina se convirtió en un icono popular. "Limousine porteña", explora un espacio limitado en el que pueden ocurrir tantas cosas dispares. Novias de blanco, vedettes televisivas,  quinceañeras  y  futuros esposos: todos ellos comparten la sensación de estar sentados  por lo menos una noche , en  los asientos  relucientes de un Ford Fairlane  azul eléctrico del '72.<br />
<br />
ENGLISH:A luxury emblem used to transport politicians and rock stars in the '80s, nowadays the limousine turned into an icon of the Argentinean popular culture. <br />
Brides in their white dresses, starlets television, fifteen years old celebrating their birthdays, and future husbands: they all share the  same sensation of sitting one night on an electric blue Ford Fairlane from 1972.<br />
"The limousine" explores a limited space in which many diverse things can happen.<br />
<br />
<br />
A Ford Fairlane from 1972,  transformed into a limousine, wanders around the streets of Buenos Aires.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-01.JPG
  • Jhoanna, el día de su boda, viaja en la limosina acompañada por su padre.<br />
<br />
Jhoanna on the day of her wedding, accompanied by her father.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-09.JPG
  • Una muñeca inchable abandonada sobre los asientos de la limosina, trás la celebración de una despedida de solteros.<br />
<br />
An inflatable doll forgotten in the seats of the limousine after a limousine party.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-11.JPG
  • Ivonne y Leo, alquilaron la limousina para llegar a la iglesia.<br />
Ivonne and Leo, make in the limousine the road that will take them to the church on the day of their marriage.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-06.JPG
  • Al final del díá, Jhonni aparca la limosina. En la oscuridad del aparcamiento, la limosina vuelve a ser un coche cualcuiera.<br />
<br />
In the darkness of the garage, the limousine is once again a normal car.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-12.JPG
  • Jhonni , el dueño de la limosina. Inició su negocio comprando una vieja Ford Fairlane del '72 trasformada en una limosina, y ahora el el dueño de 3 limosinas, que alquila para ganarse la vida.<br />
<br />
Jhonni, the owner of the limousine. He started buying a old Ford Fairlane transformed into a limousine, and now  owns three limousines, with income from which he earns his living.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-07.JPG
  • Marcos,  estripper y bailarín profesional, contrattado por una despedida de soltero.<br />
<br />
Marcos, a stripper hired for a bachelorette party.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-03.JPG
  • Un gruppo de chico festeja en la limosina la despedida de soltero del joven Facundo.<br />
A group of boys celebrating the bachelor party of the young Facundo.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-08.JPG
  • Un gruppo de chica alquilan la limosina para una noche de fiesta.<br />
A group of girl rented the limo to for a nighttime stroll.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-04.JPG
  • ES: Las gemelas Laura y Belén, llegan con la limosina a la fiesta de sus 15 años. En Latinoamérica, la celebración del cumpleaños de quince de las mujeres, sigue siendo un evento muy importante ya que marca simbolicamente la transición de la niñez a la edad adulta. <br />
<br />
EN:The twins Laura and Belén on the day of their fifteenth birthday celebration. In Latin America, the celebration of the fifteenth birthday of a teenager is very important because it marks the transition from childhood to maturity.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-02.JPG
  • "Leila", una joven estripper contratada para una despedida de solteros.<br />
<br />
“Leila”, a 23 years old stripper, hired for a bachelor party.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-10.JPG
  • Jhonni, el dueño de la limosina. El alquiler del la limo sale 400 pesos argentinos por hora. (50 USD)<br />
<br />
Jhonni, the owner of the limousine. Renting the limousine costs about 400 pesos ( 50 USD) per hour.
    12-3-Myriam-Meloni-05.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-20.JPG
  • Liliana era la que oficiaba de empleada Cama-adentro antes de tener su propia familia. Ahora la remplazó Fátima, también llegada desde el Paraguay. En la foto comparten un momento de trabajo y distensión con una empleada que trabaja para otra familia, que está de visita.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-05.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-15.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-08.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-06.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-04.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-23.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-19.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-18.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-17.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-09.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-05.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-02.JPG
  • Mercedes juega con con su prima que vino de visitas.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-04.JPG
  • La familia Bossi fue una de las primeras en instalarse en el San Jorge Village.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-02.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-24.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-22.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-16.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-14.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-11.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-10.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-07.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-01.JPG
  • Horacio, jefe de familia regresa con su hija. El Barrio es protegido por seguridad privada.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-11.JPG
  • Las empleadas de la familia llevan al departamento de la familia en Recoleta todo lo necesario para preparar la cena y recibir los invitados para el cumpleaños de la madre de Silivina.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-09.JPG
  • Titi (lleva el mismo nombre que su madre, Silvina) y Lili, una de las empleadas, comparten momentos de relax. Titi Nació en el San Jorge Village y la une con Liliana una relación construida desde el nacimiento.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-06.JPG
  • Proyecto mestizo es un conjunto de fotografías que retratan un viaje por Latinoamérica.<br />
Una narración visual en donde la ironía se mezcla con el desconcierto y la sorpresa que me genera habitar este territorio complejo y fascinante.<br />
Aquí las imágenes actuales se entrecruzan y dialogan con la historia, van y vienen de la realidad a la ficción.<br />
Proyecto mestizo es la mezcla, el cruce de culturas, las influencias. El resultado de las dependencias y las independencias, las migraciones y los conflictos, las sucesivas conquistas.<br />
El mestizo es en América el hijo de un padre o madre de raza blanca y el de un padre o madre indígena. El resultado de la fusión de dos mundos.<br />
Latinoamérica sigue siendo aún hoy la búsqueda de un equilibrio entre estas tensiones.<br />
 <br />
Las imágenes buscan reflejar los puntos de encuentro entre lo religioso y lo pagano, la historia y la ficción, lo autóctono y lo foráneo.<br />
Un mosaico en el que los límites son bien difusos y en el cual espero podamos vernos reflejados.<br />
<br />
Todas las fotografías de esta serie fueron realizadas entre 2011-2013
    17-3-Santiago-Hafford-11.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-21.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-13.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-12.JPG
  • They number but ninety-three. Ninety-three out of four hundred. Ninety-three children recovered: 400 children disappeared. A mere handful — but a handful that proves that blood cannot be erased. They, the ninety-three saved from the nightmarish plan of a military dictatorship intent upon annihilating their identity, are living proof that not all can be hidden. Not all can be made to disappear.<br />
<br />
The military regime took power in Argentina on March 24, 1976. Most of the children they kidnapped were taken along with their parents or were born in one of the secret detention centers. The ninety-three who have been found to date were saved through the unceasing battle fought by their families and with the unwavering support of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. Some of these children were simply abandoned. Some were given to families who adopted them without knowing their true identities. Others were kept by the very people who kidnapped their parents. But in all cases the intention was to erase their true identities, to break the family line so that the children would never be like their parents.<br />
<br />
I began to photograph those children, today men and women, in August, 2001. I wanted to show them next to a family member who worked for years to find them. For me, putting these two people in a single image represents the failure of the policy — of the terror — that the military dictatorship tried to impose. These photos attempt to show that lies could not defeat family bonds because the families, and the children themselves, persevered.<br />
<br />
By including a reproduction of a photograph of disappeared parents the two images become a unit, joining the present with the past. The essence of photography is to put what has been together with what is. The text tells us who they are, what happened to them, and how they became who they are today. The three elements — the text, the photo of the present, and the photo of the past — form a triptych that closes part of our history.<br />
<br />
Son a
    LAT01-18-AcosM-A-03.JPG
  • Titi y Mercedes se preparan para la fiesta de cumpleaños de su abuela.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-10.JPG
  • Horacio y Silvina en su cama matrimonial. Llevan 24 años casados y tiene tres hijos.
    18-2-Sub-Coop-03.JPG
  • The Paco<br />
<br />
The Paco is a drug that is killing some years miles of kids in Argentina, Chile, Brazil and Peru. Born in the suburbs of Buenos Aires shortly after the 2001 crisis, soon spread to other countries. Paco is done with the residue of cocaine mixed with more harmful substances such as dust or glass halogen lamps burned. In a few time dependence is total and you get to death, body slimming, teeth falling out, until I choke. The paco only costs 5 pesos in Argentina dose (one euro) and has a few seconds 1000 times stronger than regular cocaine. Most affected are the young kids from 12 to 17 years. The great tragedy is that this deadly drug was released from the poorest areas and is now becoming fashionable even in the middle class. Without some kind of unstoppable epidemic.<br />
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01) Lomas de Zamora, Argentina 2011. A guy is sleeping outside his house in the middle of an open sewer. People who use to smoke paco sleep during the day.<br />
02) Lima, Perù, 2011 A boy in an abandoned bulding. People spend all the night smoking Paco.<br />
03) Cartagena, Colombia, 2011 is the city with the biggest amount of young girls forced into prostitution. Most of these girls uses the money to buy drugs.<br />
04) Brazil, Salvador de Bahia, 2011. Guys on the street in the centre of the city.They need to smoke Paco all the night.<br />
05) Lima, Perù, 2011. Youg guys having breaskfast and smoking Paco and Crack.<br />
06) Brazil, Salvador de Bahia, 2011, a girl smokes Paco in his slums in the city center.<br />
07) Brazil, Salvador de Bahia, 2011. Very young guys on the street in the centre of the city. They are used to smoke Paco all the night.<br />
08) Lomas de Zamora, Argentina 2011. A man is selling Paco to young boys in front of children.<br />
09) Lomas de Zamora, Argentina 2011. A guy smoking paco in an a abandoned building.<br />
10) Brazil, Salvador de Bahia, 2011. A doped prostitute is wandering in the city.<br />
11) Brazil, Salvador de Bahia, 2011. The police arrest Paco dealers.<br />
12) Lomas de Zamora. Buenos Aires, April 2012. A
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  • Marcos, 89, and Monica, 87, have been married and living in their apartment in Buenos Aires, Argentina, for 65 years. In 2007, Monica was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Since that moment, her husband devoted all his time to take care of her. He has been exposed to suffering substantial changes in his life as well as a very strong physical and emotional impact, typical of someone who is gradually losing his companion of all his life. She passed away in July of 2011. The photographer has been documenting their struggle for 3 years. According to Alzheimer's Association, it is estimated now in 36 million the number of Alzheimer's patients all over the world. This disease is considered as a future epidemic because it mainly affects older people, and as life expectancy is annually increasing in global population, the disease is becoming increasingly common. By 2050, it is projected that the number of patients will have increased to over 115 million.
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  • Un cazador de carpinchos que vive aislado en la denominada "Tercera Sección" del Delta junto a un animal recientemente cazado<br />
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Sobre el ensayo "LA CRECIENTE":<br />
La Creciente es un ensayo fotográfico sobre la comunidad de isleños que vive en el Delta del Río Paraná. Fotografías de largas exposiciones nocturnas, tomadas en cámara de placa 4x5" e iluminadas con la luz de la luna, linternas y pequeños flashes. El Río Paraná es el segundo en tamaño en Sudamérica y recorre el sur de Brasil, Paraguay y Argentina. De esta fuente de agua viven más de 100 millones de personas y abastece a las ciudades de San Pablo, Asunción y Buenos Aires entre otras. Cuando el Paraná desemboca en el Río de la Plata se forma un Delta de cientos de pequeñas islas bajas y en formación. Para realizar este proyecto viví por más de dos años en estas islas, teniendo un contacto cotidiano con los isleños y los paisajes del Delta.
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  • Lima, Kilómetro 100 es un libro que se mueve en varios planos <br />
y que, como su escenario principal, -el pueblo y sus habitantes-, <br />
contiene múltiples niveles de información. <br />
A pocas cuadras de la central de energía nuclear Atucha, Lima tiene en sí misma algo de fusión nuclear (“el proceso por el cual varios núcleos <br />
atómicos de carga similar se unen para formar un núcleo más <br />
pesado”). El surrealismo mágico que cada uno de los <br />
fotografiados proyecta es solo una parte de ese universo <br />
maravilloso que Gaby Messina encontró en el pueblo de la <br />
provincia de Buenos Aires. <br />
<br />
Antropológico y fantástico, a través de sus diseñadas puestas, <br />
Lima, Kilómetro 100 crea en el observador una sensación de <br />
estar asomándose a una mitología personal y colectiva única, en <br />
la cual coexisten el hermetismo y a la vez la cotidianeidad. <br />
Gaby Messina logra con sus fotos irradiarnos con la energía <br />
mágica y creativa que emana de un pueblo muy particular, así <br />
como de cada uno de sus habitantes. Bajo los efectos podemos <br />
ver intenciones, actitudes y emociones que al final, también <br />
reconocemos como nuestras.
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  • Buenos Aires, Argentina 2005
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