Nothing in my mind haunts me more than images of the past. Innocence appears as a notion veiled in separation and marginalization. In the late 1980s, while the war in El Salvador ground on, I found myself in a market in San Salvador collecting trophies with my camera. Picture perfect suffering. This was me then, but it is not me now. All those years gone by have radically changed me.

I feel as Eduardo Galeano said, ” The wind whistles within me . I am naked. Master of nothing, master of no one, not even master of my own convictions, I am my face in the wind against the wind, and I am the wind that strikes my face.”