During my two months of writers block, I though a lot about where to take this channel, so here’s what I landed on (for now). I like the idea of this Substack still being centred around photography, and art, and the life changes that I am experiencing since I decided to drift away from the safety of corporate into developing myself as an artist in the field of photography. And I am thinking of giving it all a bit more structure. In all honesty, I don’t think I have landed on the perfect formula yet, but I did identify a couple of things I already did that I feel I want to keep on doing. And the rest may keep on changing.

Looking at my past posts I feel there are a couple of pillars or themes in what I write that I want to maintain:

1. Gear talk and my experiences testing all kinds of photo and video equipment.

The starting article I wrote in this line was my first one:

As you will read, I am and forever will be a camera hoarder. And I even officialised it with a proper camera store (check out my baby NEGA). I feel that having all these different cameras keeps my experimentation spirit alive as a photographer, and makes me excited to bring a new tool to every shoot, so I will target to occasionally go deeper into my newest discoveries and technical experiences. I particularly love the exploration of film vs. digital, new vs. old digital, strange lighting tests, using digital as the polaroid for film in studio settings, etc. etc. So, more to come.

2. Nostalgia, its relationship to my homeland and the significance it has on my work as a photographer.

The article “The Nostalgia Drawer” really did also feel like a starting point to the deeper experimentation I am going through as a photographer and where I want to take my work.

Nostalgia to me is a source of inspiration and it is also a driving force that reminds me of my roots and how they have shaped me as an adult. This section will vary a lot though, because this feeling of looking back can go very personal from my mom’s photo drawer, or my own archive of negatives with the first photos I ever took of my family members, to a deeper analysis of the impact that Britney Spears had on our youth as millennials haha (I’m sure you can’t wait for this article to come!) or why growing up in the era where connecting to the internet sounded like “eeeeeh uuuh eeeeeehh trrralalala whshwhsh shhhh” changed how I go about my art. I have loads of ideas and I am happy to take them to very random places just for the love of Susbtack.

3. Random thought pieces either on subjects of the past or my cultural explorations to museums and libraries.

I think a lot. Just like in general. Sometimes I really wonder how my therapist even puts up with me considering the volcano of thoughts I live with and the need I have to blurb them all out consistently.

This article on AI vs. photography vs. painting is a thought piece that I think was boiling in my mind since the whole wave of “you need to learn about AI, don’t fall behind” thing started and I saw all my different communities (and social media platforms) respond to it.

And even after I published this one, my thoughts on it keep on changing, I have seen a lot more of photography plagiarism work come through in AI which makes me think how much more OK are we when someone replicates an exact photo with a different look, than when that is made with AI with a different look. Which gets me thinking about plagiarism in general, and AI yet as another tool for plagiarism, which then gets me thinking about how this is just normal in some levels of work, but then gets me to think about why do we accept this as normal?

Now a new thought that sparked in my brain is how many creatives I see in the internet building businesses that profit more from other creatives than their creative work alone. I am talking about all artists that in some shape or form sell mentorships, courses, templates (you name it) to other artists on how to make it like they did. And that got me thinking of renaissance painters and their disciples, and how in the past there was an official form to learn from a successful artist: the Guild. And then I think how actually in the renaissance period, I believed that a lot of these artists died poor and their work got valued after their death, so how did they actually pay their bills when alive? Was it through their students on the guild? Well when I started thinking about that, I did a little research and found out that no, renaissance artists where not the “starving artist” myth type I believed and that many died very wealthy and that the guild actually supported the students with rooms and sometimes even a salary, so quite the opposite of the modern day version I am seeing which takes my thoughts on this even further. All in all, this is a thought piece that deserves an article on its own. Bottom line, living in my brain can be exhausting.

And these are just a quick example of what goes on in there. Add to that the fact that I am an avid museum goer, and love the museum libraries. So any time I see someone’s work, and touches me, I cannot stop thinking and wanting to share about it. Example, I recently visited Inez & Vinoodh’s exhibition “Can love be a photograph?” And I was in awe to learn about the duo’s experimentation with early photo retouching softwares like Quantel Paintbox and how they used it to expand the narratives on their work. Can’t stop thinking about it and how they made me change my perception on retouching tools for photography as an art form. This whole thing deserves an article of its own too. So conclusion: can’t stop thinking. And a “Random thought piece” section is perfect for all these thoughts.

4. Personal stories.

To be honest, this will be the toughest section for me. I am still a bit in awe on how much feedback and positive comments my article on quitting my job to pursue photography received. And I am very happy it helped so many think through their own hurdles and appreciated having the opportunity to respond to every single DM I have gotten after this piece.

The reason why this section will be the toughest one for me to write is because I do not think I know the answers nor have clarity on absolutely anything about all the steps I am taking. And I can’t really research on any of these as it is my actual journey. I have always been a very driven individual, like something inside me tells me I need to do certain things, but even in my past, when I was considered “successful” in other areas I struggled very deeply to talk about it openly. Call it impostor syndrome or whatever you want; there is a certain egocentricity that comes out when you talk about something you did that can be considered relevant or good by others. And that feeling, for some reason, I don’t vibe with at all.

I really admire the people that can openly and calmly talk about their success. WOW. I wish I had that in me. I like sharing, I am quite an extroverted person, and I am happy to talk about any random experience I have gone through in any medium, because I don’t care if others misinterpret it, as I know what truth I hold for myself. But I sometimes feel uncomfortable when people really care about that random experience, because many times for me it was just something I did, driven by who knows what, but under others perceptions it somehow takes different forms and I find it strange. Pretty sure nothing of this makes sense, but where I am getting to is that I am no expert in what I am doing, quite far from that, I am a total noob. So it does scare me a bit when people assume differently and look to me for advice. But with that context, and I guess with just simple honesty, I will continue to share some of my personal stories on this journey and see where it goes. It does feel like Substack is the right place.

So yeah. I feel this can all still change but it is a starting point, and I needed to write this structure down to feel it. New subscribers, feel free to DM your thoughts on this! Looking for feedback always :)

During this trip, my MacBook had a fun little accident, and as I am writing this, my screen is broken and constantly twitching. A broken MacBook takes on a whole other perspective when you are a freelance entrepreneur and one of your main work tools fails. It did make me think about how much things have changed. In the past, when I had my corporate laptop, phone, credit card, etc., a broken computer never seemed like such a crisis. Of course, I would not wish for it, but the process of fixing it would be simple. It would be sent to the IT department and replaced, no biggie.

On Sunday, when I actually broke this one (all because I wanted to watch a Netflix series in the bath after an exhausting shoot day), my heart sank a little bit. I saw a portion of my profits disappear into an unexpected expense, and I thought about how silly I was for not getting the equipment insurance I had wanted to get months ago. My supposedly relaxing bath turned into a frenzy of researching MacBook repair services in Amsterdam.

Now, five days later, it does not seem so serious. I got a repair scheduled — three hours on Monday when I get back. It is a big chunk of money, but nothing I cannot manage, and it pushed me to finally get the equipment insurance I had been putting off. Being an entrepreneur and being fully responsible for your income and outcomes is quite the contrast to corporate life, but it does make you stronger and smarter as you overcome each unexpected thing that comes your way.

I am in a bit of a reflective mode because, 10 months ago, I dreamed of this life. This past month I have been to the north of Sicily, the French Alps, and now the south of Sicily, later heading to Brussels, all for jobs that my camera got me. I have shot in NYC, London, Mykonos, Tokyo, and Buenos Aires in just 10 months. This all seemed impossible and very far away when I was working my office job.

I do want to make a small note: when I talk about leaving a corporate job, I want to highlight that this was not just a job I had so I could support my creative endeavours. I worked at a global sportswear brand in the merchandising team as a senior manager overseeing full EMEA apparel collections for multiple product divisions. This was a serious grown-up job that was not only highly demanding and well-paid, but also let me travel the world, gave me amazing challenges, and surrounded me with incredibly talented and ambitious human beings.

This job was my entry into a life in Europe coming from Uruguay. My first hiring manager believed in me enough to sponsor me under a “Highly Skilled Migrant” visa, and I went on to thrive in this world.

Now you may be asking why the 180° pivot. When I arrived in Europe, as a South American, I had one priority only: to stay. Which is not that easy unless you already possess a European passport. During my six years in corporate, I went deep and did my best to learn as much as I could and really squeeze every opportunity this amazing job gave me.

But around year five, I felt a change. I had been a manager for a while, and I had grown in my role to the point where your direct reports are smarter and more talented than you are, and your job becomes less about doing and more about overseeing and communicating the right messages top-down. This was a challenge for my personality type. I am a doer. I love having my hands in action. I was good at overseeing, but I felt it was slowly draining my soul and, most importantly, my creativity (yes, you can and have to be very creative in corporate too) by not DOING.

In parallel, I was working to naturalise as Dutch and gain dual citizenship in what had become my second home country. After five years, five Dutch exams, and a complete Inburgeringscursus, I attained my Dutch passport.

At my job, I stopped seeing the next step, and if you are anything like me and my level of ambition, this hits hard. I had one eye-opening moment where I realised that even if my boss’s job were handed over to me, I did not want it. Her job was amazing, nothing wrong with it, but it just involved more managing, more overseeing, and more communicating; which I was finding out was clearly not for me.

Then came the uncertainty era.

I knew what I did not want, but I had absolutely no clue what I did want. This phase of not knowing where to go hits even harder. I was under a lot of self-doubt and self-imposed stress, which even became noticeable, with a lovely eye twitch and other minor physical signs. I went through a lot of business ideas that I kept crossing off for one reason or another, until one day it hit me: my camera.

In Uruguay in 2010 (pre-social media boom era), being a photographer felt flat. It felt like you had to do a lot of random things to make a good living. So even though I never stopped taking photos, I had given up on the idea of living 100% from it. But now I was not in Uruguay anymore, and suddenly I had a plan.

So once that clicked, all the pieces started moving forward. I started learning again, catching up on what I had missed, working on updating my portfolio, getting published, and realigning my creative process and workflow. Now, 10 months in, life looks quite different.

When people ask me about this change, my first response is always: “rollercoaster”. Big shoutout to my partner and my friends who have dealt with all the ups and downs this ride has brought. You guys are the absolute best, and I could not do a fraction of this without you. So far, no regrets. I would not have wanted this process to happen any other way.

But now to the interesting bits: what did I expect, what surprised me, and what are my key learnings so far?

Routine

Week one was insane. I was used to working all day, every day. When I first quit, yes, I had projects, and I was receiving emails and following up on edits and publications. But it was quiet. And as a very intense, energetic person, this drove me loco.

Tuesdays were particularly the worst. Monday I would catch up and send emails, update my pitches, work on mood boards, and then Tuesdays were mute. So slow that I even got into the habit of taking my ass to the museum every Tuesday.

God bless the Amsterdam cultural scene, because in almost one month I became an expert on all the current exhibitions at my favourite museums. By Museumnacht 2025, I was able to give personalised tours at the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, Huis Marseille, and Foam (lol — jokes, but I really did know a lot about the current exhibits).

What surprised me was how quickly things can go from very quiet to insanely busy. So finding a routine that kept me busy while also embracing my new freelancer life took time. But also, it is still freelancer life, so even when you gain some necessary habits and routines, they need to stay flexible because no week looks like the previous one.

Now I have my Amsterdam routine, and when I am away, I choose to just go with the flow of whatever comes. In Amsterdam, setting up gym time, office days (I now share a studio office space with an amazing group of talented creatives), and caring for my free time is essential. This keeps me in check and allows me to more or less know what to expect from the week while still maintaining time for creativity.

Still, I have learned that even with a made-up routine, creative freelancing implies that sometimes you will be non-stop busy, and other times you will have way too much time to spare. That is something you slowly get used to managing as time progresses. Now, 10 months later, it is easier (not yet easy).

Becoming my product

In my past job, I sold actual apparel products. I packaged them into beautiful collections and presented them to clients. I got feedback from clients, talked to design teams, improved the products, and made them good to sell. In the past, a tertiary object that was independent from my “self” received feedback, and if something was not up to standard, there were lots of other points in the chain that we could look at to fix (or blame) before moving on with business.

Now I am the product. This is CRAZY to me.

I am an extroverted person and I love talking and connecting with other humans, but I was also a “hide in the library” kid and I still feel kind of shy often. Plus, I absolutely hate being the centre of attention. Me becoming the product was something I did not think thoroughly enough about, and thank the universe for that because maybe I would not be here if I had.

The interesting bit is that I have always been a photographer (read previous posts), but I had never really had to position myself or sell myself in a new market because, in the past, things happened quite organically for me. This “selling myself” thing evolved into questioning: What is my photography style? What makes my work different? Is it even special? Etc. etc. etc.

This may seem obvious, but to me it was a bit of a surprise after quitting corporate. And it is interesting to navigate, trying to separate my actual self from the product I want to sell as a “photographer” or, even scarier, as an “artist”.

To be totally honest, I am not 100% there yet, and I suspect I never fully will be. But it was an interesting and humbling realisation to see that it is my eye and creativity that will ultimately be valued, and it is on me to figure out how I show, express, and eventually sell that.

Money

Before quitting, I expected my financials would change quite a bit. I made a plan where I knew I could survive eight months with no income, of course hoping that would not actually be the case.

Month one was good. I had invoiced almost half my previous salary across multiple jobs and was already making bookings for month two. I had seen all these TikToks and reels from photographers sharing their monthly income, their 10K months and all of that, and I truly felt hopeful that everything was going to be fine.

But yeah, hope is never enough. Month three rolls around and I invoiced exactly 0 euros.

ZERO.

And what a plunge into cold water that was.

In my plan, I had saved enough money to survive, but not enough to pay for all the therapy needed to handle the uncertainty that comes with volatile work. That first zero-income month was a bummer. I was working on editorial projects, investing in my work, doing all the right things, but I felt like the one thing I actually needed to flow my way (money, duh) simply was not flowing.

Now, 10 months in, I have had months with over 10K invoiced, and I have had months with a total of 100 euros incoming. But most of all, I am stronger and more mentally prepared for the volatility, and I accept it as part of the ride.

I do want to highlight something that I wish people had told me — or reminded me — sooner: your invoicing total means nothing. Nada. Niente. A business is a business, and your bottom-line number is the most important part. High incomes may look flashy, but if they do not stay in your pocket, they are not worth much. (It really makes you think why this is not the part people post on their reels.)

As a Business Administration graduate, I technically knew this already, but it was something I needed to re-learn. For some reason, when I was changing careers, I did not pay enough attention to costs and was very impressed by how much photographers can invoice from just one job.

Keeping your costs under control while still investing in your business is the real challenge and where we should all be putting our energy. Also, the reality is that as a freelancer, you are fully responsible for yourself: what happens if you are injured,
what happens to your equipment, and how you take care of yourself when work is low. This is why 10K months should almost be the standard rather than the achievement, because the costs of maintaining a healthy business can easily eat up 50% or more of that.

One last thing I learned about money: the higher you are getting paid for a job, the higher your costs usually become. A more demanding job requires a more professional team, high-level assistants (sometimes more than one), retouchers, equipment rental, film and development, hand printing, insurance, travel, etc. etc. etc.

Photographers looking to go full time: do not be fooled by the total numbers others make. Think about your own margins, what you need to spend in order to achieve high-quality work, and build from there.

Talent and Relationships

Talent is crucial. A good photographer has a good eye. They have taste. They see moments and things in a unique way. Talent is incredibly, incredibly important and necessary. But it is not enough on its own.

I realised quite quickly how important it is to make your work visible, attract the right platforms, and connect with the right people. I have had the chance to work for dream magazines, amazing brands, brands I shop at, and brands I wish I could shop at — and almost all of these jobs came through people who met me in real life while I was trying to push some other idea forward.

I do not love the word “networking”, but it is true that the network you build as a creative is game-changing. The reality is that in the creative industries, you rarely work alone. You can be set up as a “eenmanszaak” (one-person business), but you still need others to bring the work to life. Even if you keep things low-scale, the best work happens when the best teams are assembled. Trusting other creatives’ talents is also important. Surrounding yourself with good people elevates your output.

As I expected, my first few weeks after quitting were filled with coffee dates, drinks, and catch-ups. And my god, I owe a lot to all those meet-ups. From a creative who told me about a really good WhatsApp community in Amsterdam, to a producer who put my name forward for a very fun shoot, to a stylist who welcomed me to assist her and placed me on set with a lot of amazing people.

This has been said many times before, but I can only reaffirm that who you surround yourself with is incredibly important for a career in the creative industries. It was impressive to experience this myself at a European scale for the first time.

Freedom

Freedom was one of the biggest drivers behind making this career pivot. I wanted to own my time. I wanted to be able to choose how and who I work with.

Something I found really trapping about corporate life is that there are people who simply are not a match for the way you work. It happens. There are certain humans you just do not click with, and suddenly every project together becomes difficult. The hard part is that if one of these people is assigned to your team, there is not much you can do about it.

You can discuss points, improve communication, bring as much kindness as possible to the table — but some personalities simply do not match, and working together will always be difficult. This can lead to a lot of frustration, and for some people I have even seen it lead to burnout.

When you become your own boss, one of the greatest freedoms you gain is the ability to say no to these personality types that are not a match for you. You gain the ability to set boundaries and choose whether or not you want to work with a specific person.

To me, this is one of the biggest things I gained from changing careers. But I also learned that nothing comes for free. The freedom to choose comes at an extreme cost:
volatile income, uncertainty, and a constant fear of the unknown bubbling around your future.

But it is a price I would pay 1,000 times over for the mental peace that comes from knowing I can steer myself away from uncomfortable situations and unhealthy work relationships. I would describe it as the freedom to choose who and what you want to work on, at the expense of not knowing exactly how much you will get paid every month.

Kindness vs. Competition

This is an observation that to me was also a bit of a surprise. The European creative industries are the big leagues. Competition is endless, and the amount of talent is probably unquantifiable for my little brain. But there is work.

Even though we are in a recession, even though things seem to be declining, and even with AI, there is still work. Some, if not most, of the biggest brands in the world come from this side of the world. There is history, craftsmanship, heritage, and future tied into these brands.

And that means there is still a lot to gain for creatives operating in Europe. It is a market with multiple layers of opportunities and offerings, where even if the competition is fierce from a quality standpoint, there is still space for a lot of different levels.

I come from a market where, when I was starting out, things felt scarce. There were not that many jobs, and it often felt like we were constantly competing with other creatives for the good ones. This led to what, 10 years ago, were maybe not the nicest attitudes and sometimes more intense sets (I really do not know how it is now, so keep in mind I am talking about over a decade ago).

I have genuinely been surprised by the level of kindness, openness, and overall professionalism I have encountered on set here. In these last 10 months, I have met and collaborated with creatives I deeply admired, and I was consistently positively impressed by their kindness. I am not sure if I have simply been lucky, but I was honestly prepared for a different vibe.

And yes, the competition is still there, and the quality level is insane, but I almost see it as healthy competition because it pushes me to do better work and become a better overall artist rather than trying to be better than someone else. It makes me want to figure out what “my” thing is.

As every day passes, I feel like I see this journey differently (god bless my therapist for simply existing lol). But I am genuinely impressed by how much has changed in just 10 months. I could honestly keep writing forever, but let’s take a break here for now. Anyone else did a similar shift? Would love to hear your stories too

x

Caro

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AI has already changed how we look at an image, and it is making us question what is real and what is not; at least when we stop and look. AI is also where we least expect it, making it hard to realize what is real and what is generated. As a millennial kid, I have fortunately gone through the creation of MSN Messenger, Myspace, Fotolog, Blogspot, Facebook, Instagram, VR, NFTs (remember when that was huge?), Bitcoin, and even digital photography. And what I find funny is how predictable we all are. When something huge changes how we operate, I see three groups forming: 1. The Deniers: the ones that go into full denial and say the new thing will never be as good as the old thing; 2. The Fanatics: the ones that fully embrace the new thing and neglect the old (and can’t stop talking about it); and the third group, 3. The Strategists: where we see the value in both old and new.

When digital cameras first came out in the 1990s, critics initially dismissed them, claiming the megapixels would never catch up and the sensors lacked depth and warmth. They mourned the loss of the “original” (the negative), and in rose the fear of manipulation: the ease with which Photoshop allowed us to retouch our images. Traditionalists saw these cameras and tools as a shortcut that ignored the process of how to get the shot in-camera. Rings a bell?

So I started researching: how did the world react to photography then? I had the luck of growing up in a family that, on my grandmother’s side, had a long public history, and I have seen oil painting portraits of my great-grandfather. This got me thinking about how in the past, if you wanted to freeze a loved one’s image, you’d hire a painter. Which made me question: what did those painters think of cameras?

I love painting, and I wish I did more beautiful things than my abstract scribbles, but I love even more the romanticism of painting: getting your colors, the easel, turning on some music, and enjoying a very long image-making process. Imagine being a painter in the mid-19th century and suddenly seeing the new guy popping in with a black box and a flash, reducing your process to a click and its subsequent development and copy. Boom. Brain implosion.

Doing some research, I found out that when photography first came along, it was not seen as a new tool; it was perceived as a threat to the very definition of “Art.” Renowned painter Paul Delaroche even said: “From today, painting is dead” (quite the drama queen, now that we have seen it all roll out, huh?). And I get it, the magic of painting is also in the painter’s interpretation of color and light; there is a higher level of creative freedom in the process of painting. To these guys, photography seemed too flat, too realistic.

The reality is that the painting market took a hit. The miniature portrait painters were the first to go and were replaced by photographers by the end of the 19th century (BTW, I think this is kind of unavoidable for AI vs. Photography; there will be shifts). Yet some painters did not fight the technology, and portrait models finally got a break, with artists like Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres and Thomas Eakins who started using photos to study anatomy and lighting without requiring models to sit in for hours.

But something even better emerged: the birth of Impressionism. Some painters realized that if our black box could capture reality perfectly, their value was elsewhere. They could capture what the camera could not: emotion, subjective color, and the passage of time. In came Monet and Renoir, giving a whole new look to light using thick and noticeable brushstrokes. Probably one of my favorite painting eras. If you have ever been to museums like the Louvre or the Rijksmuseum, you will notice the passage of time and a very drastic shift in painting styles from the pre-photography era to post-photography. Before cameras, paintings were aiming towards realism; you can hardly see the brushstrokes, and the colors and lighting are very natural and descriptive. As you advance through the years, painting techniques shift drastically, and you start seeing color used strongly to convey emotions, and the paint becoming thicker and more noticeable in every brushstroke.

This is where I see a link and where I find it truly interesting for our new era of photography vs. AI image making: The process. The process of making a painting is different from making a photograph, which is different from making an AI image. And more and more, you see photographers sharing insights into how they made it to a final image—from lighting setups to editing techniques, and for the analog ones, the BTS into our lives filled with negatives, prints, contact sheets, and film rolls, and sharing images with their analog frames. Making our own brushstrokes more visible. I believe that all forms that serve to convey a final visual output are forms of art, and the medium is a tool and a resource, a part of the process. Yes, AI image-making is art too (at least IMO).

I do still think photography will never be fully replaced by AI because we live in a world that exists outside the internet; we want to see real humans, real places, and real-life actions, emotions, and experiences portrayed through images. Also, we all tend to forget that AI image-making may be fast, but at a high-quality rate, it is not cheap. AI artists invest a lot into credits and multiple different apps to get a high-quality output, and now there is a lot of investment and research going into AI that for sure makes it all more accessible today, but I am not sure how long it will remain this way and how the cost structure will look for high-quality AI image-making in 5 years time (it can even be equal to a photograph if it does not imply “flying a helicopter over the NY skyline at sunset” to get the shot). And, lets face it, the top artists of our time are paid for their ideas and way’s of seeing things, not for how they came up with the final result. Do not forget, even with AI, there is a human behind the prompt.

The reality is AI will definitely challenge us photographers. Challenge our process, our ideas, our stories, and make us think beyond our three-light setup and the shutter click. AI is here to make us look inwards and see: what can we do that AI cannot? Where can we think beyond the limitations of our camera? Can we expand to other art forms with the help of AI? This is definitely an interesting time for the craft of photography, and to be totally honest, I am not fully versed on what my thoughts are on how this will impact my work; I have only been using AI lightly to mood board ideas that are harder to find a reference for. But I am definitely interested in learning more and exploring what the future will look like. I would love to hear other creatives’ thoughts on the matter: what conversations have you had around AI? What are the major shifts that you are seeing in your workflows? Are you doubling down on the process and human element?

This habit cemented in me a love for "walks down memory lane." It made me focus on the art of looking back from a very young age. To this day, I am obsessed with my mother’s 80s looks, my grandparents' tennis outfits, and my grandmother’s appearances in the newspaper social pages. Without realizing it, my mother was creating a personal archive, something unique I hope she maintains forever and ever. Without knowing, she was also cultivating in me the feeling that intrigues me most: Nostalgia.

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What is nostalgia? It’s a beautiful word; the “lg” combination gives it such a melodic sound. By definition, it is "a sentimental longing or wistful affection for a period in the past." Where I come from, nostalgia carries a positive connotation. Uruguay is a country riddled with Nostalgia, incredibly progressive and modern in its thinking, yet stuck in time, reminiscing about our glorious past and the traditions that define us. (In case you didn't know, the first football World Cup EVER was played in Uruguay, and we Uruguayans never forget). We even have a national holiday called the "Night of Nostalgia," which is the night of the year where most Uruguayan’s hit the dance floor.

Held on August 24th, the eve of our Independence Day, the tradition began in 1978 when an oldies radio station owner organized a party. The concept stuck so hard that, growing up in the 2000s, I knew I needed a new outfit every August 24th to go out with friends. Now, the fun part about this night, is that it spans generations: my parents dance to ABBA and the Bee Gees, I’d hit the floor to Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys, and my sister likely gets One Direction (+ all of it’s South American equivalents like Bandana, Mambrú, Don Omar; etc.). Unlike in Europe, in South America, "Gasolina" is an oldie; a song we listen to when we want to travel back in time, not just every other Friday. What I love about this, is that music and photography share a common link, they both carry the weight of Nostalgia, and have the power to take you back in time.

Now what does this have to do with anything related to my photography? I have decided that these two pillars: the art of looking back and the positive Uruguayan spin on nostalgia, are the foundation of my body of work as a photographer. We’ve all been in that awkward situation where someone asks, “What is your work about?” (terrible, I know). For years, I fumbled through answers about people, faces and fashion before changing the subject. Last year, I thought it’s time to stop this weak response, and I realized there is something deeper drawing me to the camera, and that my work is a little more than just pretty faces in nice locations. There is a reason I gravitate toward the past, shoot film, and seek out references like Mick Jagger in the 70s or Twiggy in the 60s; there is a reason why whenever I see, I think back. And yes, of course, shooting film has always had people talking about the vintage look of my images, and I had heard others use the word “nostalgic” to describe my work. But last year it all clicked. I spend most of my days explaining where I come from, how far away Uruguay is, and what makes Uruguay a special place; I also spend a lot of time talking about cameras, photos, and film stock processes. And those two things are connected.

My roots are a big part of where my photographic work organically gravitates. The Nostalgia drawer will always give me new ideas and bring me back to my “why.” And since I realized that, I want to make it even clearer, even sharper (so much so that I am writing a Substack to make it very explicit lol). Kidding, but I did realize that those things do make my work somewhat different, or at least more meaningful to me, which in the end is what matters most. This is why I have now dived deeper into a personal project called “Uruguay: Pais de la Nostalgia,” where I am looking to take the upcoming years to visually explore that identity and nostalgic feeling that cuts through the Uruguayan population.

I can’t even start to explain how cool my people are and how beautiful my country is, and how many layers there are to it, and how much perspective you gain on this when you emigrate. But I do also know it’s a country that lacks visual representation. Reader: if I say "Uruguay," what do you think about? What image comes to mind? Unfortunately, I am very aware that unless you traveled there, you won’t get the same visual imagery resources that Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, or Peru has. And that has given me artistic purpose. Let’s see how I do lol; and that this project sticks. Would love to know about your personal projects and the "whys" behind your photographic work. Does your mother also keep a Nostalgia Drawer? I love the idea of sharing and learning from others, so looking forward to your thoughts.

It really took me a long time to acknowledge this label, being a “Photographer” (let alone an “Artist”; I feel I struggle even more with that one). But in all honesty, I grew up as a photographer. I was obsessed with every single camera I could get my hands on since I was under nine years old. I would take photos of my sister, my brother, and my cousins—and not just candid; I would make them pose, style their hair with flowers, and create a scene with them poking out of our living room curtains. (I also made them act for short movies and video series, but that is for another chapter).

When I was 13, we went on a family trip to the Iguazú Falls, and I remember my dad bought my brother a little Samsung camera, a point-and-shoot. It cost him 39 dollars; it was gray and light blue and had a small little flash (I still have it, of course; I managed to keep it when he got bored of it). Trust me, to this day I don’t know why it was my brother’s and I didn’t get one, but most probably it was because I was already hoarding all the other cameras in the household, including my dad’s Canon EOS 3000. Mind you, this was probably early 2003, and my dad had this camera (which was a 1999 release) all the way down in Uruguay, so it felt top of the game.

Around 2009, my dad gave up on pretending that his camera was his and finally made it mine. My first ever analog reflex camera. I also begged with all my heart and soul to start a photography course in parallel to high school and got my way. For six months in 2009, I was going every Tuesday and Thursday evening to my first ever official photography course at the Uruguayan Fotoclub. I signed up having no idea what I was going to learn. Digital cameras had been around for a while, so the course could have required us to use digital, but the universe aligned and the course was the “analog, black and white, create a story, shoot it, develop and print it” type; and I met my first ever forever love. Looking at life through a viewfinder, observing humans, places, and moments through a frame, then seeing my work in these small negatives, curating, selecting, and printing in different sizes and with new techniques... I will forever be passionate about framing life, seeing it in a little square that lets me choose what goes in and what is left out.

My second forever love was that specific camera, the Canon EOS 3000. At the time, it was the only camera I had, so I didn’t know what else was out there, but I liked that it was light, that I could try all sorts of different lenses on it, that it had a good light meter, and also a very fun pop-out flash. What I didn’t know back then is how underrated all these Canons from the 90s were going to be today. They have amazing light meters, sharp autofocus, and work well if you use automatic settings. It also lets film do its magic. I am actually very passionate about gear, and as I became an adult, I started hoarding cameras — no joke, I feel I have over 50 around my home right now. I loved trying point-and-shoots, digital one-button cameras, complex digital reflexes, and now mirrorless too, but in all my 15+ years making photos, I always gravitated back to my Canon EOS 3000.

Around two years ago, I realised I wanted to be able to always have two loaded bodies on set, so I started searching for another Canon EOS 3000, only to find out that I could buy this camera body for under EUR 100. I found that insane, knowing that a lot of us photographers are spending thousands on Contax T3s. It made me see that we are all prone to trend and hype and sometimes don’t see what other accessible options there are. Of course, the Contax T3 or G2 have a very aesthetic and pleasing design, and I do value that, but if you are anything like me, I care more about the photo, about not breaking my back carrying gear, and about being able to shoot fast.

So, I decided to do something about it. I have shot Harper’s Bazaar covers and L’Officiel editorials on a Canon EOS 3000, and however much we want to be convinced of the opposite, you do not need insanely expensive gear to create high-value images. Repeat after me: you do not need insanely expensive gear to create high-value images.

There is a lot behind a great image, but somehow we always tend to think it is the camera. Don’t get me started on models, location, styling, lighting, LENSES, etc. yes, that’s all incredibly important, and your technique too. There are some lucky mistakes, but if you want to take photographs at a high level, you do need to understand ISO, shutter speed, and aperture, and what you can do with all of that. But your technique is just your tool to bring your vision to life. The vision is the starting and ending point; the gear and technology are just there to help. Invest in learning how to use your gear, but invest in knowing what you want to capture even more.

My first camera taught me that as I bought better, more expensive gear, I always gravitated back to it because it is easy to use and gives great results. My own process relies a lot on my film and lighting choices, as well as good relationships with my labs and the subsequent development, printing, and scanning process (Frontier scanners <3 luv ya). So, having a camera that is easy to carry, easy to see, meter, and shoot with is incredibly important; and the best part is, I don’t need it to be one of the “fancy” ones.

The past years, as I re-emerged into what I call my “2.0 era” as a photographer, I have been sorting through my camera collection; cleaning and testing point-and-shoots, finding my gems, and ensuring I maintain solid backups for high-pressure sets. I realised a very fun fact: I have way too many cameras. Like, way too many. And to be honest, I don’t think I will ever stop buying and testing new cameras. So this year, I decided to open up my collection to other photographers to shop from (nope, not selling my OG EOS 3000, but selling other EOS 3000 bodies I don’t use anymore). I want to share these jewels and tested pieces of gear with others and also keep my rotation moving, haha.

Would love to know your thoughts on the pieces of gear that you feel changed your craft. Which camera holds your heart? I’d love to hear.

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