Issue #5

Jaguar Field Notes
​

Ahoi, Reader.
​
It’s almost midnight as I write this newsletter. I’ve been trying for days to sit down and put into words what I wanted to share with you, but sometimes life has other plans, and its own rhythm.

So here I am, a little sleepy, with a song (Σtella - Charmed) playing quietly in the background. Someone I’ve been enjoying hearing from lately sent it to me a few days ago, and it’s keeping me company tonight. The room is quiet, the light is low, and somehow, this feels like the right moment to finally begin.

So… here we go.

H O M E

If I start connecting the dots between my previous newsletters and what I’m looking for in my life right now, I keep coming back to one feeling: home.

I often think about something my grandmother once told me: “Wherever I am, I am never far from home, because I carry it within me."

At the time, those words fascinated me. I couldn’t quite understand them. It seemed almost crazy to think that home could be something other than the furniture I knew, the familiar streets, or the things surrounding me.

But slowly, through the years and all the moving around, I’ve started to understand what she meant. Maybe, at some point, you become your own home.

I’ve already talked about the kindness and beauty of friendship. The people who, simply by being there, give us a way back to tenderness, safety, and those little spaces we call home.

But what happens when you’re constantly moving?

When I keep asking myself, challenging myself, wondering what I’m going to do with this one wild life I’ve been given?

Would I be happier if I had less desire to discover this blue planet?

Sometimes I wonder if, with a little less hunger for adventure, I might finally learn how to live a little more quietly.
​
But perhaps the answer isn’t to quiet that part of me. Perhaps it’s to find new ways of feeling grounded while still following that curiosity.

And somehow, this year, I found one.

The paintings I’ve been gifted, the plants that fill the room, the colors that remind me of Colombia, and all those little pieces of faraway places.
​
They all live together on one wall in my room, creating a little landscape of distant lands. A small corner tucked safely inside my own little nest.

I finally started a course to become a Music Circle facilitator. A group practice of improvisation where the voice and body become the main instruments.

It’s something that has been calling me for years. And for the first time, I finally had the space in my life to say yes.

When I arrived in France for the first weekend of the course, there was someone in particular who immediately caught my attention. I couldn’t quite explain it. I simply felt strangely comfortable around her. Almost… at home.

I had just spent days photographing Berlin’s Circus Festival, working non-stop. I took a flight at dawn without sleeping, arrived barely functioning, and walked straight into a room full of people making music with their bodies.

Sometimes I really wonder what I’m doing with my life...
​
But then, every now and then, something happens that makes all those seemingly random pieces fall into place.

A little story…

Back in 2022, during one of my first missions in the Sierra Nevada of Colombia, I spent some time living in the jungle, working alongside an Indigenous community and contributing through my photography.

Somewhere along that journey, I met a person who became one of those friends that time somehow never touches. We shared a lot of music back then, and during one of our encounters, he showed me a song that has stayed with me ever since.

It followed me through mountains, airports, long bus rides, new countries, and all kinds of adventures.

And now, years later, I was sitting in a room in France with someone I had just met, wondering why her presence felt so familiar.

I went through my memories trying to find an explanation.

Had we somehow crossed paths somewhere along the way?

Nothing.

Then, one afternoon, during one of our exercises, I heard her sing.

And suddenly, it clicked.

She wasn’t my friend.

But I knew her voice.

I had been carrying it with me for years. It was the song my friend had shown me years ago in Colombia.

A voice that had travelled with me through mountains, journeys, and faraway places, long before I ever knew the person behind it.

And I think this is another way of finding home.

Sometimes home is a room filled with your plants and your grandmother’s paintings. Sometimes it is a friend waiting for you at the other end of the city. And sometimes, incredibly, it is hidden inside something someone else created.

A song. A photograph. A story. A voice.

Art has this strange ability to travel further than we ever will. We make something, let it go, and somewhere, somehow, it can become part of someone else’s life.

This is the song that has been quietly accompanying me along the way

All of this feels connected to what I’ve been building all along. Photography has always been at the center of what I love. The way I connect with the world and with the people I meet along the way. And now, I find myself looking for new ways to communicate beyond words, through something a little deeper.

Images. Sounds. Presence.

The search for connection, for understanding myself and the world around me, is still very much alive. And somehow, these different pieces are beginning to intertwine.

These are some of the photographs I’ve created over the past month, while juggling all these other little quests

And perhaps this is where I want to leave you this month: look around you. Notice what is already there. The people, the little rituals, the plants by the window, the conversations, the places that make you feel safe. And don’t forget to share a little of what you are, too.

Because home can be beautiful, but it can also be fragile.

This month, a devastating earthquake in Colombia left many people without homes and, tragically, some without loved ones. It’s a reminder that the things we sometimes take for granted can change in an instant.

I’ll be selling some of my photographs and donating the proceeds to support people and communities affected by the earthquake. If you’d like to contribute, purchase a photograph, or simply want to know more about where the help is going, please feel free to reach out to me. There are still many ways to lend a hand.

Maybe this is also part of what home means: knowing what we have, sharing what we can, and remembering that none of us really builds a life alone.

Thank you for being here, and for sharing this little corner of the world with me.

Thank you for joining me for this month’s stories. See you in the next one!