Imagine the surprise. On a trip to the Canaima jungle camp I had to get out the boat with a sick child in my arms, wading to the river island called La Orquidia, without knowing well how to handle the situation, where I was given the kindest help by the Pemones, whose tribe has inhabited the region for generations, without reaping the benefits of the years.

They led me to what looked like a small inn, with impeccable rows of hammocks strung neatly across a well-swept room, comfortable, safe and dry, awaiting not tourists but travelers who cross this difficult terrain, headed to places I did not know.Normally the Venezuelan fisherman goes out alone to patiently fight the currents, the dance of the boat, the inert weight of the water and the living weight of the fish, but when groups go out in a communal hunt of a large school of fish, dozens are in one medium-sized boat. The silence surprises; no one speaks, only the sea and the movement of the boat are heard. Then the fish furiously hit the nets, the air explodes thunderously with the tumult of chaos, shouted orders, roars of effort, clamors urging on the others, cheers of success, grunts of exhaustion, and then silence in their return.

Victor asked me to take his photograph in his conuco. He posed seriously, with dignity and solemnity. Everything around him was natural, even the chin-strap holding his hat was made out of a leaf of banana.

The tropical sun, which can often overexpose many shots at the wrong time of day, can at later hour create marvelous shadows and depth for natural portraits that would be hard to create in a studio. The light and shadows outlined his face and chiseled his features to show the strength of character that he wanted to portray.Normally the Venezuelan fisherman goes out alone to patiently fight the currents, the dance of the boat, the inert weight of the water and the living weight of the fish, but when groups go out in a communal hunt of a large school of fish, dozens are in one medium-sized boat. The silence surprises; no one speaks, only the sea and the movement of the boat are heard. Then the fish furiously hit the nets, the air explodes thunderously with the tumult of chaos, shouted orders, roars of effort, clamors urging on the others, cheers of success, grunts of exhaustion, and then silence in their return.

Museo de Juan Griego se llamaba Museo Simón Bolívar. Era de bajos recursos dependían mucho de las contribuciones que recibían para mantenerse. Lo que pude conocer fue que poseían un cuerpo de baile bastante limitado que lo integraban 3 bailarines    y el coreógrafo y en casos regulares, bailarín. No conocí  los temas musicales que abordaban.

Me involucré en esta experiencia  un poco ignorando lo que querían., yo me dedico a la fotografía documentalista rural y por supuesto no conocía para nada lo que involucra la danza . Pero hice un convenio con el director que, para la época, era mi amigo: yo le haría las fotografías, montaría  una exposición con parte de ellas y las dejaría perenne en el Museo: y así lo hice.

El tema, las luces, no tenía idea de la vestimenta y a medida  que transcurrían los movimientos  entendí  que era un ensayo  solo para fotografiar, no para copiar fotográficamente  un tema.

Me ví bastante limitada  pues el equipo que portaba era una cámara analógica y manual, que  era lo que utilizaba para mis trabajos de campo, jamás usé un trípode (utilizaba las ramas de los árboles para apoyarme ) ni flash para iluminar pues sentía que me cortaba la profundidad de campo, esto significa que trabajo con luz solar: esto era nuevo para mí…Normally the Venezuelan fisherman goes out alone to patiently fight the currents, the dance of the boat, the inert weight of the water and the living weight of the fish, but when groups go out in a communal hunt of a large school of fish, dozens are in one medium-sized boat. The silence surprises; no one speaks, only the sea and the movement of the boat are heard. Then the fish furiously hit the nets, the air explodes thunderously with the tumult of chaos, shouted orders, roars of effort, clamors urging on the others, cheers of success, grunts of exhaustion, and then silence in their return.

Normally the Venezuelan fisherman goes out alone to patiently fight the currents, the dance of the boat, the inert weight of the water and the living weight of the fish, but when groups go out in a communal hunt of a large school of fish, dozens are in one medium-sized boat. The silence surprises; no one speaks, only the sea and the movement of the boat are heard. Then the fish furiously hit the nets, the air explodes thunderously with the tumult of chaos, shouted orders, roars of effort, clamors urging on the others, cheers of success, grunts of exhaustion, and then silence in their return.

Al comenzar a caminar el pueblo de Guanoco, en todos los caminos surgen pequeños pozos que parecen lagunas de asfalto y estamos realmente distantes del propio pozo que, según, la historia es el más grande que se conozca. La temperatura es tan alta en la zona del gran pozo que, antiguamente, el horario de trabajo era de 4am a 9am.