The body is present, but the identity is hidden. This image marks the beginning, when there is no face. Only a covered body facing nature, silent, almost ritualistic. A zero point from which everything can begin.
I cry stones in front of a wall of old phones. It is repressed emotional masculinity, social noise, and the attempt to maintain composure. I explore the fragility behind appearances.
Here, identity becomes a disguise. I present myself as a figure somewhere between comical and uncomfortable, breaking with expectations of masculinity. A parody that dismantles rigidity.
I show myself as vulnerable, close to the animal. I don’t look at the camera, there is no pose of strength. Just the body. Gender is reduced to the physical, to the instinctive, with no apparent social construction.
I surrender myself before the ultimate symbol of sacred femininity. The tension between gender, religion, and eroticism becomes evident. The male body, vulnerable and devout, is out of place.
I transform myself into an icon. This image plays with the codes of power and gender as performance. The body becomes a symbol, a constructed figure.
An almost mythological image. The male body merges with the animal and the sacred. The hawk above my head is both a weight and a guide. Gender here becomes mystical, androgynous, somewhere between beauty and menace.
Here, the body no longer hides; it arms itself. This figure is devoted and dangerous, wounded and furious. The sacred heart on my chest burns while weapons cross my hands. Gender becomes resistance.
I use photographic self-portraits to show that masculinity appears not as an essence, but as a series of acts, contradictions, and performative tensions. Here, masculinity strips itself of its mandate and transforms. Through these images, I ask myself what it means to “be a man,” but also what happens when that concept is broken, disguised, hidden, or shown in another way. I use religious symbols, animals, pop icons, and theatrical gestures to talk about identity and gender from an uncomfortable, poetic, and sometimes violent place.
There is humor, pain, tenderness, and resistance. There is the exposed body, the armed body, the sacred body, the body in doubt. There is no resolution, only a series of open questions about what it means to inhabit a gender when that gender ceases to be a refuge and becomes a battlefield. How much of what we call “being a man” is acting?
