I am her girlfriend. Carmen is my girlfriend. I am the one with the hair fashion. Carmen is the one who smiles.

In two thousand and eight I had just moved to Barcelona from Madrid.  I found there Carmen. Love and delirium. Sudden tie as friends, as lovers kiss. Producing excitement, complicity, desire, we have an infinite desire to plunge into the unknown and a regrettable desire to make some noise. Everything is possible again. We are the ends of the magnets. We attract and we reject magnetic. I am negative and positive. She likes me.

Carmen is my girl, my nemesis, my favorite. Reigns among us the same impulsiveness than when I shoot. We are the unstoppable guillotine shutter when the time comes. She is my muse. The taboos disappear and with them all sorts of boundaries. The individual becomes an exciting world to explore and hunt.

Carmen is my girlfriend. Then I was diagnosed with a fibroid uterus. Talk about the odds export of uterine matrix. I feel vulnerable, fragile. I walk away from myself. Easily lose control and venting my anger at the people I love. The camera becomes my shield to face the fear. It was not easy, but I could ask Carmen to photograph my suffering. Overcome such a hard a time, give us the light and the desire to change. In the summer of two thousand and ten we move to Berlin. We live alone, travel the city by bike, we order a lot of beers and play cards.

Carmen is my girlfriend. I’m still the one with the hair fashion. Carmen is still the one who smiles.

Text by Sebastiano Mastroeni