Issue #6

Jaguar Field Notes
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Ahoi, Reader.
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Once again, the night has caught up with me, and here I am, writing this newsletter the day before it goes out. Although, in my defense, last time I didn’t even make it to midnight. By the time I realized I still had a newsletter to write, October had somehow arrived. I’ll tell you more about how I lost all sense of time, and why, in a little while.

For now, I’m listening to a song that seems to tie everything together. This is a story I’m particularly excited to share with you.

​Coral Rojo is playing, and the story begins.

Vamos!

La Luna

Before we take a leap back in time, if you’ve been reading this newsletter, you might have noticed that I’ve mentioned Vincent Moon a few times. He tends to appear in my stories like a quiet little ghost, slipping into the narrative here and there, never taking up too much space. But this time, the story is dedicated to him.
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Our friendship began ten years ago at the PEOPLE Festival in Berlin. The festival works a little like life itself: you choose which room to enter, and whatever concert is happening inside is the one you get to experience. You’ll miss the others, of course, but you’ll be there for the one you chose. You can’t have it all, see it all, or experience everything. I thought this concept was absolutely brilliant. And as it turned out, the room I walked into was the one where Vincent Moon was playing.
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For those who haven’t come across his work, Vincent is a French independent filmmaker and a sound explorer. He first became known for his work with La Blogothèque, intimate musical performances filmed in unexpected places that made you feel as if you'd stumbled upon something you weren't supposed to see, but were lucky enough to witness. Later, he set off on a nomadic journey around the world, recording traditional and sacred music, contemporary rituals, and the sounds of communities across different cultures.

He has a way of bringing us closer to the world, not by explaining it, but by inviting us to witness it through his eyes and ears.

This photograph sums up our friendship over the past decade.

Hugging each other in different corners of the world.

That night, I cried. I went up to Vincent for the first time, wanting to thank him and tell him that it had been a long time since someone else’s art had moved me so deeply.

But the moment I started telling him, I burst into tears right there in front of him. He didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around me, and he cried with me.

And just like that, our friendship began.
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And now, let’s come back to the present!

Our friendship has been built on travel, photography, and music. Some encounters are planned, others are always a surprise. Vincent’s work has inspired me at different moments throughout my life. In a way, he’s been a bit like the North Star, always there to guide me back to something I believe in.

Last year, during one of our encounters somewhere in the world, Moon told me about a residency at a monastery in France. He wanted to bring together twenty artists from different corners of the world, people he’d met along his travels, and invite them to create a two-day symphony together. He wanted me there with my camera to capture the whole experience.

At the time, I didn’t give it much thought. It was still a year away!
So many things could happen between then and September. We could forget, get distracted, or a million other things could get in the way.

But a few months ago, the message finally arrived:

"Ready? See you in September."

The promise was still alive.

So I packed my pandeiro and my camera. What else could I possibly need?

An artist from the residency, in case you’d like to discover more music.

Aura Hatis Noit PREVIEW   ​

A little story…

The residency turned out to be one of the most authentic, beautiful, and inspiring experiences I’ve ever had the luck to be part of.

Artists from all over the world came together to meet one another, learn from each other, share, and create something in just five days. The result was a symphony presented to an audience in one of the most magical places I’ve ever been.

For me, it was also an experience of facing myself. I felt an enormous responsibility to portray these artists in a way that did justice to who they were and what they brought into the room. It meant confronting that pressure, discovering that I was capable of doing it, and, at the same time, allowing myself the space to be vulnerable.

Here, I want to share a little more about LA SYMPHONIE DE SÉGRIÈS , along with some of the portraits I made from the artists who moved me to tears.

One of my favorite photographs.
He didn’t hesitate for a second when I asked to photograph him in the water. Floating so beautifully, letting me capture him just as he was.

From the symphony to Berlin

Okay, but what does Moon, a festival, and a monastery hidden in the mountains have to do with each other?

Well, somehow, everything.

After the residency, I went straight to PEOPLE Festival in Berlin. The very same festival where I’d met Moon ten years earlier was finally happening again. And some of the artists from the monastery were going to be there, too.

Of course, Moon had something to do with it. He’s one of those people who brings worlds together, creating connections you could never plan yourself.

That day, my name was on the list. I got my wristband and was free to wander from room to room, following whatever caught my attention.

And just like that, the magic began.

I kept running into friends, old and new. A little of the Cami from ten years ago was still there, the one who had gone home that first night with a strange ache in her chest, longing to be part of this world. Back then, I wanted to talk to the artists, understand their music, dance, sing. I wanted to belong.

This time, I was right there in the middle of it all.

Moon spotted me across the room and shouted, without even saying hello:

“Did you bring your pandeiro?”

I laughed. Of course I had!

Later that night, I somehow ended up on a boat. Music was playing everywhere, in different rooms and corners, and you never quite knew where you’d end up next.

Little by little, people started gathering around the same spot. Moon, my friends from the residency, my friends from Berlin. It felt like a family reunion I hadn’t known I was waiting for.

And then I heard someone singing.

I knew that voice. I’d been listening to it for years on long journeys through distant mountains. I never expected to find myself sitting in the same room, surrounded by all these people who had somehow become part of my life.

It was Julián, from Coral Rojo.

And there I was, listening to the music of someone I now call a friend, surrounded by people I’d met along the way, wondering how on earth all these worlds had managed to collide.

For a moment, I just sat there, taking it all in.

Amor

The night wasn’t over yet.

At some point, I found myself in one of the backstage rooms where the festival’s 200 artists gathered to eat, talk, and hang out. I was taking it all in when I heard the shy sound of a "maraca" somewhere in the room.

People started getting excited. You could feel the energy building, but no one seemed ready to take the next step.

And then I thought, Why not? What have I got to lose? Nobody here knows me. And hey, I’m a photographer...

From across the room, my friend caught my eye and shouted:

“Go on! Go on, you little menace!”

Hahaha.

So I pulled out my pandeiro. And what happened next is what you’ll see in the video below: a self-proclaimed pirate and a monkey with a pandeiro, somehow finding her way into the music.

And just like that, the circle closed.

Ten years ago, I left that festival dreaming of being part of this world. That night, I found myself right in the middle of it, making music with people I loved, on the very anniversary of the friendship that had helped set me on this path.

Moon had opened a door, and over the years, I’d kept walking through it. It led me here, to a life where I get to photograph people who trust me with their stories, and share songs with those who cross my path.

I don’t think I could have planned any of it.

Life is beautiful.

Ahoi!

I’m the one in the blue shirt, playing the pandeiro. Vincent is the one waving the little red cloth in the air. Then a bombo joined in, flowers started falling from the ceiling, and we were wrapped in the magic of singing and being together.

Thank you, my friend.
A bearer of light and love, an opener of paths, a wanderer of the mountains. A planter of seeds, a connector of artists and worlds.

I hope life brings you those moments when everything falls into place. When the seeds planted long ago begin to bloom, and the friendships you’ve nurtured open doors you never knew were there.

I wanted to share this story with you because it’s part of what has made me who I am today.
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All the love.

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