Blast from the past #1: Tapajós
The idea of launching a new section on the blog called “blast from the past” could itself be considered a blast from the past. I had already thought of this concept when I began reorganizing my photo archive and revamping the blog, as I came across many images—digitally dust-covered on old hard drives—that dated back to the early moments of my artistic journey.
Many times I was surprised by forgotten photos, which now sit alongside my recent work in my portfolio. Others, though quite different from my current production, remain stored away. And with the launch of this section, I’d like to gradually rescue them from ostracism and bring them back into the world.
As I’m heading out tomorrow on a field trip to the lower Tapajós River region, where I’ll be for two weeks, I’d like to start by revisiting a photo taken in that very area nearly 14 years ago, in August 2011.
Unfortunately, the original file has been lost, so I don’t know the exact date, time, or technical specs. But I remember precisely the moment I made it. I was returning from a full day on a small boat, drifting across the vast, calm waters of the Tapajós. The river’s surface was so smooth that any ripple was created solely by the weak motor of the boat. After sunset, the horizon turned crimson, reflecting on the tops of the gentle waves and painting the water in indescribable tones—tones this photo does not faithfully capture.
On the other side of the river, in that dark strip separating water from sky, lies the world’s largest tropical forest. Trees over 50 meters tall condensed into a tiny black line offer a sense of our smallness amid the majestic and embattled Tapajós.
I’ve cherished this photo ever since I made it with my old expedition companion, a Canon G11. At the time, I was experimenting and know that this was the first time I attempted a “long” exposure—about one-fifth of a second—handheld. This is a technique I now use extensively (for example here, here, here, here, here, and massively here), one that has evolved with the technological advances in image stabilization in both cameras and lenses. Its pioneering role in my career is not only technical but also conceptual: it was my first photograph to flirt with abstraction—a path I abandoned for years and am now slowly retracing.
I have high expectations for this return to the lower Tapajós region, even though I know much has changed. The forest is more degraded, the river polluted by illegal mining, and threatened by the construction of massive hydroelectric dams. But the Amazon, its waters and its people, is greater than its executioners, and I’m certain this region still holds more wonder than sorrow.