Issue #1

Jaguar Field Notes
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Hola, Reader, I love that you’re joining me here on this new adventure, it means so much to me.
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I’m writing this from the valleys of Nepal, right at the base of the Himalayas. There’s a soft breeze coming through my window, and In My Own Time​
by Alela Diane is playing in the background. If you want, press play and join me here for a moment.​
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Story #1
I can feel this adventure slowly beginning to come to an end...
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During these two months in Pokhara, Nepal, I’ve had the strange, beautiful sensation of living inside a bubble. Like stepping into an entirely different life, becoming a new character, trying on a whole new way of being. It’s constant and hard to put into words, but travel has this way of making you shed your skin. You say goodbye to one version of yourself… and quietly welcome another.

But how do we even recognize the end of a chapter?

I started traveling when I was 18, backpacking across South America with my best friend, Sarita (if you’re reading this. Sending you the biggest hug, and thank you for not letting me die, haha). That version of me was completely fearless. Hitchhiking along endless roads, doing very questionable juggling at traffic lights, painting my face, selling homemade chocolate truffles on the street, and macramé pieces that, honestly, no one ever bought.

But it was my first long journey… and I had my camera in my hands.

That’s where something clicked. Where I understood, deep down, that I didn’t want to stop capturing, observing, telling stories.
That this—whatever this is—was what moved me from the inside.

I wouldn’t have made it very far without my friend. The courage she lent me during those four months we traveled together is still something I try to carry with me today. Because the truth is. We don’t get very far alone. That trip taught me to recognize how much I needed someone by my side to take steadier steps. Sara and I may not travel together anymore, but I’ve held on to those lessons ever since… and so far, they’ve never let me down.

That was the beginning of my long journey as a photographer.

I’m sharing here some of the very first photos I took on the road.
We all have to start somewhere, right? And even if I wouldn’t call these “professional” now, they were my first seeds. The tiny beginnings of everything that has brought me to where I am today.

And now, back to the present...

That version of Camila doesn’t fully exist anymore, but I like to believe the most remarkable parts of her are still very much alive in me. I’m definitely more cautious now, and my knees don’t quite keep up the way they used to, but the desire to listen to people’s stories, and to capture them, still drives every journey I take.

These days, thanks to an education fund from Germany (GIZ), I’m working on a photography project with a women’s organization here in Nepal (EWN). I collaborate by teaching photography, or more often, by helping shape the organization’s visual identity. Right now, I’m photographing women who are training to become mountain guides.

I get to witness their process up close. The challenges they face in the mountains, the stories they carry, and their determination to step beyond the limits of a small village and build independent lives. Some want to support their families. Others want to see places they might never have reached otherwise.

And there’s something quietly powerful in standing there, camera in hand, watching all of that unfold.

This is a short, one-minute video I made in honor of them

This experience -once again- confirms that this is something I want to keep doing. For however long it lasts...years or just a little while longer. I want to keep following what feels meaningful, even when it asks for something in return. Because it does. This way of living is as generous as it is demanding.
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But there’s something about stepping into other people’s worlds that rearranges your own. It softens certain worries, sharpens your curiosity, and reminds you of what truly matters. And as long as I can keep moving through it all with presence and honesty, I know I’m on the right path.
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So, to answer the question from earlier, "how do we even recognize the end of a chapter?"... I think it's only when you can look back and realize that you're another person. During change, nothing ever feels like it's changing. During times of struggle or beauty, one is too close to the subject to really see the "whole", to really see what is happening. So perhaps my question was wrong, and a better question should be "how do we ensure we're always growing into a new chapter?"
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This first newsletter is simply an opening, a door into the stories ahead, and a glimpse into what has shaped me, not just as a photographer, but as the person behind it all.

Thank you for being here. And if something in these words stayed with you, I’d love to hear it.

And a few things I’ve been loving lately:​
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One of the main reasons I decided to start this newsletter is thanks to a wonderful woman who shares her life through a gentle way of living, elegance, and tenderness. Thank you, Carla. Her work is in Spanish, so it might speak especially to those of you who understand it, but I truly hope it inspires you, wherever you are, as much as it has inspired me. Minicarbono.
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I’ve come to feel that being an artist is really about belonging, about expressing something that matters deeply to you. And that kind of path is hard to walk alone… we need community. One space I’ve been enjoying is Countercult. Definitely worth a look.
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On the days when inspiration feels a bit out of reach, I often find it again through the adventures of Eva zu Beck. There’s something about watching others follow their curiosity so boldly. It gives you that gentle nudge to keep going.
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And finally, a photographer whose work never fails to transport me: Kelsea Callister. Her landscapes feel less like images and more like little portals, each one its own world.