"We perceive the world through our senses. Studies show that sight is the most important sense for all cultures, followed by hearing, touch, taste and smell. Blindness is a much more severe disability in Africa than in Europe. None of the blind people I photographed used a cane. When I asked why, the doctors told me that, as they lived in remote areas or chaotic cities, blind people rarely left their homes. In such depressed contexts, the blindness of a family member also has a huge economic impact on the entire clan.
I believe that the second greatest gift one human being can offer another in Africa is to restore their sight, after saving their life. We live in a world where inequalities are growing by the second and reaching unbearable levels. Healthcare in Africa relies on medical expeditions from the developed world, especially given how advanced medical technology has become.
The Rementería Foundation invited me to accompany their ophthalmological expedition to Thies in Senegal, where we restored sight to 240 people in the space of a week. They gave me barely any time to respond, and the work was completely different to what I normally photograph. It would have been easy to turn it down, but I was compelled to accept without hesitation.
The night before, I had watched Akira Kurosawa's 1952 film Ikiru. It begins with a voiceover describing the main character, an elderly civil servant who spends his days stamping the endless applications and petitions piling up on his desk. The clerk is played by the wonderful actor Takashi Shimura. The voiceover says: 'This is the protagonist of our story, but it would be boring to talk about him now, as he is just killing time. He passes through life. In fact, he is hardly alive...'
Although I have never stamped anything in my life and have nothing in common with this man, the idea of not making the most of my days made me view the opportunity to go to Senegal as part of a medical expedition as a gift. Then I started to worry about how I was going to solve this assignment, which was finally going to materialise in the form of a book, in just seven days.
On my second day in Thies, Laureano, the surgeon who restores sight to people, asked me, “What is it like to photograph blind people?”. I was stunned. I realised that I wasn't just photographing blind people, but drawing their attention to me. Their blindness was irrelevant; I had before me the best models of my long career as a photographer.
I got up close and personal when photographing them, taking close-ups, because if I moved further away, I would lose the necessary tension between model and photographer, and the enormous power these people could project. So, with a heavy heart, I had to give up fabulous costumes, wonderful prints and textures of fabrics, so as not to lose the extraordinary people in front of me.
The Expedition to Thies exhibition opens with contextual images to help visitors understand and locate the area in which its protagonists live.
These are photographs of the beauty of the wild landscape and the atmosphere of the city. I have avoided reflecting the harsh reality in these images. As a photographer, I have never been interested in poverty, marginalisation or violence. I have always approached my work with artistic freedom, reflecting only what moves me. In my obsession with conceptualising the work rather than making a documentary report, I have left out many descriptive photos from this final edition. The book concludes with a sequence of light entering the hospital anarchically, seeping through every crack.
Light is the protagonist of this story, and those who bring it back are its heroes. I would like to thank the Rementería Foundation, Adela Parra, Mariluz Capelo and Laureano Álvarez Rementería, the medical team and aid workers, and everyone else for setting an example and demonstrating commitment, generosity and love for those most in need."
