Voy i Vuelvo

Emmanuel del Real

Installation view - Voy i Vuelvo

Installation view - Voy i Vuelvo


Installation view - Voy i Vuelvo

Installation view - Voy i Vuelvo

Installation view - Voy i Vuelvo

Emmanuel del Real

Voy i Vuelvo

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If I had to trace a map of how we arrived first to an exhibit and then to this book, I would probably start with a picture of Tlatelolco, taken by Meme, that hangs in the living room of his house, and trapped me since the first time I saw it. On one side, the strength and beauty of the photo, but on the other, the gesture that represents printing in big format and showing it. Even in the most intimate aspect of his life, this gesture was already an indication: the head of a turtle that wanted to leave its shell.

Then it was his Instagram account, where Meme started to upload pictures on a regular basis, and started to stablish a pattern. It was a way of observing and grasping a reality that had a different voice to what is usually seen in a format of massive production of images.

In that unrestrained scroll down, his photographs resisted the improvised, the ephemeral and instantaneous features that a social network tends to have. They resisted without the arrogance that resistance itself can have. They integrate with pictures of other users without the vulgarity of wanting to say something stronger or better than anyone, but saying something so honest that it could belong to anyone, but with a subtlety that no one could express it the same way.

When we started to work with the pieces that make up an archive of more than ten years, and we were looking for a way of unifying it, Meme described it in the following way in one of our fist encounters: “I think it is the power of static: how to find movement where the isn’t any, find emotions in inanimate places or suspended where one cannot image them. I realized that it has been my quest without me realizing it.”