90 DAYS is the time allowed to stay in the US with an ESTA tourist visa. On March 12 2020, a couple of days before the state of alarm in Spain, I traveled to Utah to be with my partner, who lives there. I was planning to stay just a few weeks. Instead, I was forced to stay there until the borders in Europe were reopened. It was exactly 90 days.
This series is not about the pandemic, but about how I escaped it while visiting the desert. They didn’t confine us, they just asked us for social distance. What greater distance than camping in the desert? So, armed with my camera and many films, I discovered the landscapes, which seemed like science fiction to me, of that desert state.
This is undoubtedly the most personal series I have done to date. In it I see again my anguish when reading news from Spain, the frustration of my friends, the misunderstanding of others who urged me to stay at home, the concern for my mother and my father, the uncertainty about my future job, but also the happiness of spending every day with my partner (and not just a short vacation every now and then), learning a new way of traveling for me (used to boats and planes ), the satisfaction of having time to take photographs and, above all, the fascination for all this practically virgin and difficult-to-access terrain that I had the fortune to explore.
This is undoubtedly the most personal series I have done to date.
90 DAYS is the result of my love affair with the desert in the middle of the United States. From monoliths that seem to be located on some unknown planet, to a bullet-riddled stove in the middle of a salt flat, including the well-worn tumbleweed, owners of a wealth of tones that was unknown to me until now.
The desert means to me loneliness and distance, survival and tenacity, and abandonment on the part of the human being. Tiny flowers make their way through an apparently barren terrain, covering the tracks of a vehicle, the garbage that humans have left behind blends in with the environment, a solar power station perishes abandoned to its fate and one does not know if they are mills or giants.
Something that seemed so unalterable turns out to be malleable and changeable. In a matter of ten days, a stone facade may have been disfigured by the fall of one of its corners. Plants that seem to have come from another planet grow by the thousands and look like the visit of a small army of aliens.
These photos were taken with an analog camera. The same camera was used for all of them, a Hasselblad 500 C/M, I developed them when I was able to return home, taking advantage of my two weeks of mandatory quarantine upon my arrival to develop the films at home. The scanning of the negatives was also done by me.
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