Since childhood, I’ve had that bad habit of peeping into dwellings of others, peeking through windows, doors or other look-throughs (that is to say bigger than a keyhole). Out of curiosity for sure, in search of stories other than mine, I guess. Not a whole story, that would be too much, too easy or too complicated, too boring. A glimpse, a moving shadow, a word not a whole conversation; things like that. As a child, I remember, I found it very fascinating to look through windows that revealed a staircase or a garden without a fence, sometimes leaving that much space to my imagination enough for a dream. The whole thing had to happen very fast, so that everything would be left veiled. At home, I would make drawings of what I had ‘discovered and more’ on my way back from school. Some of those drawings depicted funny, incredible, weird, but above all -I later realized- far-fetched stories. Alas, none of them survived my sloppiness or my mother’s eagerness to clean my bedroom.

Fortunately, I’ve stopped those drawings, but I haven’t stopped stealthily looking through windows. A bit embarrassing at my age being that peeping woman wandering about, had it not been for my camera which has become my partner in crime, accompanying me whichever window I’m passing by. We gather evidence of those precious moments and constellations which trigger my imagination; those glimpses of mystery.

If I had the choice of shooting the same scene with the same character(s) in plain air or through a window, my response would be prompt without thinking twice. Plain air provides too much information, showing scenes and faces too clear for my fantasy to open her eyes. That window, on the contrary, offers so much more space for less. And on top, it is a generous host welcoming that delightful sunlight on its condensed dirty pane, those drops of morning dew leaping down its surface revealing a face so pale. That marvel drives me even closer to that window. In some cases, catching the attention of my protagonist, who is not always as happy as I am at that very moment.

This host is even that generous as to reflect what is happening on the other side, bringing different stories together in one frame. He is the producer of a scenario in which he is taking part in a Hitchcockian way; the transparent conductor leading an orchestra of capricious reflections, mood, textures and tones to a crescendo. A cocktail I am addicted to.

Like most street photographers, I am – before all – in search of authenticity. Eager to catch and frame that precious jewel, in a way like Dahl’s giant wants to catch and bottle human dreams, I believe that I have a greater chance of finding it behind a window or canvas than in broad daylight. At least in the places where I usually take my shots; but maybe I am wrong. Anyway, sometimes I walk miles on end before I find it.

Once discovered and caught, windows help me to double-frame that genuine subtle smile or bitterness I am looking for; the face astonished (disturbed) by my presence; that mind full of thoughts or memories, her face and hand around the knife eager to start on her sunday pancake, the daydreamer, ... Isolated transience. Transparency of small human life.