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SARAH MEISTER
PHOTOGRAPHY CURATOR MOMA

So, here are the beautiful prints.

Sergio Larraín, broken window
and tree shadow.

purchased with Edward Steichen funds
in 1954.

They have
a wonderful pearly quality to them.

Beautiful condition,
very soft printing style.

And the next two,
have some sort of much more grit to it.

You see the sprocket holes
from the negative.

You can see the prints
don't lie as flat.

The paper is thinner.

It's also glossier,
so it's more reflective of the light.

So it makes sense to me

that these may come actually
in two different occasions.

Look, that's Captain Edward Steichen's
handwriting.

Not very clear, but he writes MoMA Coll,

for MoMA Collection.

For me, especially when I see
prints like these,

in this incredible, delicate
silvery light...

when I see the kind of imbalance
of the composition

and I think about
where they were made...

In that sense, who made them
and where they were and when.

That all matters.

That's a pretty good way
to get to know a photographer.

He showed us the poor children

and a reality
that was there for all to see

but nobody had seen it.

Until Sergio Larraín photographed it.

He disappears among the children

because he transforms

into a beggar, into an orphan.

Sergio Larraín's big issue was feeling

somewhat abandoned,

feeling orphaned somehow from his family.

He identified with those children.

Because through his photos,
Queco realized

there was so much suffering in the world.

The pain that existed in the world.

The inequality.

He was skinny, a little shy, solitary.

The only boy in the house

and with three sisters.

I think Queco was very fragile,

he was a highly sensitive person
in many aspects.

For Queco, it was very important
that our father believed in him.

I think he cared a lot
about our father's opinion of him.

I think my father
liked success very much.

If you were a photographer,

you had to be successful.

If you were an academic,
you had to be successful.

You were to do things
with enthusiasm and well.

He felt so belittled next to my father,

because maybe Queco felt

that he wasn't fulfilling
my father's wishes,

that he didn't have...

all the talents and everything

that my father expected from him.

I had a set of letters
from Queco to my father.

In one letter it said:

"Dad, I want to tell you

that you will never have
the son you wanted."

SERGIO LARRAÍN
THE ETERNAL MOMENT

We never lacked anything.

On the contrary,
there was an abundance of everything.

It was a very fun house,

in one part we had a tennis court,

and we had a swimming pool.

Lots of activities, trips, books.

We had all sorts of opportunities.

It was a happy childhood.

Without any worries.

He rejected his background

and all the frivolity,

the money and the pomposity.

And that they invited

my father to conferences,

that he was always a dean,

that he always had high positions

and people admired him.

Sergio Larraín García-Moreno

and Mercedes Echeñique Correa

de Larraín, at that time,

when women belonged to men.

She was beautiful.

Look how flirtatious she was

with her fishnet stockings.

My father, Sergio Larraín,

was a very successful architect.

He was very sociable,

he held various positions

at the university later on.

He was a dean

at the School of Architecture.

He created the School of Design.

After that, he started all the work

with the founding of the museum.

His father begins to unravel

the mysteries in Latin America.

He becomes an avid collector,

particularly of ancestral cultures.

On those journeys,

he is accompanied by his wife,

by his friends, historians, writers,

who through their dialogues,

begin to visualize

that this journey isn't just
the exploration of a culture,

but also a sort of discovery
of their own origins.

Latin American.

Primordial.

Immediately a sort of commitment is made,

a profound commitment

to make these treasures known.

So he starts to accumulate and collect,

to gather from different places

very important collections that
ultimately form the founding collection

of the Museum of Pre-Columbian Art

and which he generously donates
to a foundation

so that it can exist for the pleasure

and appreciation of the Chilean public.

And this teaching certainly
must have left an impression

on Sergio Larraín.

Fine Art Photography,

as it's called today,

was a natural practice
for Sergio Larraín,

an instinctive practice

because he struggled
with his familial identity.

With his American identity.

With his Chilean identity.

And with his personal process of identity

as a restless adolescent,

with conflicts.

When Queco decided to go

and study Forestry in the United States,

my father supported him 100 per cent.

I think he wanted to leave home.

At that point, Queco's personality

started to change drastically,

and he started sending
pretty terrible letters.

My father was very worried.

This is one of the letters he sent me

from the United States.

"Here I am, taking a break from studying

to write to you.

I've been thinking
about myself constantly

and that's bad.

When you think about yourself too much,

it becomes
increasingly difficult to think

about so many other things.

And very difficult to get involved
with other people.

You start to dream

about how nice it would be
to hug someone,

it doesn't matter who.

And that they love you very much.

And then you realize that it's bad.

And you start to think
about God and Christ,

and about all of the good and great men,

and the shame comes and you feel regret

and you promise a thousand things.

But you're still alone all the time

and you can't escape
the bad temptations."

Astonishing! So sad! This is so sad!

Because when I got these letters,

they didn't worry me

and now it makes me sad.

He felt that he could be a priest.

He had received Christian values,

that he never abandoned.

He took Communion every day.

Queco valued manual work very much,
craftsmanship.

He made an analogy between work
in the darkroom and mass,

the work of the priest at the altar.

He said it had to be immaculate, clean,
because it was a ceremony.

"And it's the same here", he told me,

"everything has to be in order
and done in stages

because this is the same as Communion

or the Eucharist,

this is a ceremony."

He always had a relationship
with religion,

he always had an interest.

My mother renounced her previous life.

She decided that she needed to focus

on working on her internal self,

she became very religious.

Everything changed in the house.

Primarily because of my brother's death.

It was such a hard blow,

especially for my mother.

My father found no better way
of distracting the family

or dealing with the grief,

than by organizing a trip
with all of us to Europe.

Not just Europe, we started in Egypt,

then we went to Israel and then Lebanon,

Greece, Italy, Paris, France,

then we went to London.

We had been traveling for six months,

my mother was suffering
from an infinite sadness,

that she couldn't express

because my mother never expressed

anything she felt.

Is that my mother?

Look. Let's see.

Yes.

At Gaudi's "Sagrada Familia"
in Barcelona.

He shows her so tiny in front

of that grandiose thing,

that fantastic church.

But my mother was overwhelmed

by the events,

by life, by the world.

He makes her look so small.

I think my mother felt like that.

Queco captured her how she was,

I think, or how he saw her.

It's so beautiful.

Queco was already taking
photo after photo.

Look at that solitary character

with that big tree.

I think he resented loneliness a lot,

human loneliness.

Something much more philosophical,

not just him, not just his issue.

Look at that tree, all damaged,

truncated.

That huge tree. Is that my father?

It says on the back: "Dad. Mount Athos."

"Hepidemos. Dad. Greece."

It's from the same period.

Perhaps he wanted
to see my father that small

so that he wouldn't be so scared of him.

Because I think
he was afraid of my father.

I don't know if it was fear,
he resented him. A lot.

But they were from different galaxies.

Two worlds with so little in common.

This book
is Cartier-Bresson's first book.

And this book belonged
to Sergio's father,

Sergio Larraín.

Sergio Larraín learned from this book.

It's all expressed in here,

the counterpoint
that Cartier-Bresson talks about.

There's a counterpoint here,
much like Bach's.

And here pages are missing.

Some pages are cut out

and the pages are cut out by Sergio.

And he placed them next to his own,

to see how to master the geometry.

He made albums.

When Santiago died,

my mother became very good friends
with Father Hurtado,

because there was a home
for homeless children

and at that time
Queco began taking photos

of the children
that lived under the bridges

and on the streets.

There is no concession.

The austerity of his image

is radicalized in him.

Everything that is there

has to be.

And in that frame,

that magical instant which Sergio Larraín
always talked about, appears.

Consciousness opens,

where everything appears controlled,
but everything is out of control.

Chance together with control

constitutes a philosophy of life,

that has to do

with this detachment from oneself

and letting things happen
because they have to.

Sergio was...

a photographer with a very sharp eye,

very personal.

Clearly,

for every photographer, the idea
of being part of Magnum

was something of a myth.

Thanks to Cartier-Bresson,

who Sergio meets after a trip to London,

I believe in 1958,

he meets Magnum photographers who propose

that he join the Co-operative.

After that, he settles in Europe,

in France, in Paris.

From France he makes

an enormous amount of trips,

for magazines,

commissioned by Magnum.

He went to Iran, Algeria,

Sicily, lots of places.

"I'm nervous because my report has been
published in Match.

Because I've been in Via Veneto,

where all the exceptional people
in Rome are.

And I've been received so well

by the photographers, very amicably.

The Magnum Aristocracy.

I've been with the divas and stars,

that whole ambiance that excites me,

the beauties

and I tremble and I'm anxious

to be a part of that world of lights,

and try to be in the center of it all

and conquer it,

to capture the people,

the beauties and prevail amongst
the men with prestige,

and I tremble.

And those photos
that I hardly even realize

I've taken in the moment,

become important

and stand out from the rest.

All that emotion.

The self."

I am, I am, I am! The self.

And he has the confidence to say:

"I try to impose myself and captivate

and I want to sleep with all the women."

Strong.

But honest.

He says it and doesn't hide it.

I was always impressed by Sergio.

I always saw him

as a kind of monk,

but with such a high level
of concentration,

something very intense.

He transmitted something very intense,

and we knew from a young age,

that he was taking photos
with pretty strong themes.

His photos were impressive,

and they fit with the character

that I felt Sergio was.

There was something dramatic.

ENRICO MOCHI
DIGITAL MANAGER MAGNUM PHOTOS PARIS

Here it is.
Sergio Larraín photographed in Milan

the poet Salvatore Quasimodo,

who won the Nobel Prize
for Literature that year.

Here we are in front
of Sergio Larraín's prints,

vintage prints from that era.

Here we have different
examples of subjects,

images Sergio took at the UN,

that were used a lot by the press.

This one is of the famous
Shah of Iran's wedding.

This one is Tierra del Fuego.

What's really interesting

is the composition of the faces
that Sergio chose,

because we can follow the eye's trail

moving from one face to another

when we look at this photo.

Maybe Palermo, but could be anywhere.

Magnum commissioned him to do a report

about the Mafia in Sicily,

and no other photographer accepted it
at the time.

Once there, he passed as a tourist

to try and get close

to the Mafia personalities.

In the end, he managed to make contact

with this character, Russo,

who was one of the most
wanted mafiosos in Sicily.

These photos were very important

because Magnum offered them

to prestigious magazines

like "Life" and others,

and that was very good

for Magnum at that time.

Giuseppe Russo.

Giuseppe Genco Russo.

Genco Russo?

That gentleman was a bit mafioso.

They were taking him to another prison,

at that time they traveled by train.

I'm talking about many years ago.

But he wasn't a gentleman.

He was! All mafiosos are gentlemen!

But if he could help, he helped.

He was a handsome man,

taller than me, proud.

When you talk to these people

they are sweet talkers.

Even with people they have issues with.

It's not that they're bad,
they are good people.

Evil came before!

That's how it goes...

They're good at being evil! Not good!

Unfortunately.

The Mafia is another state,

they have networks

operating all over the world.

"Life". This is an issue from April 1960,

that published

the fourth part
of "The Evil Work of the Mafia",

which was a series of reports

about the Mafia

as this scandalous entity,

the fights within the Mafia.

He starts to publish these photos,

and then they appear in reports.

This one is a Mafia member's funeral,

police standing guard

on the streets of Sicily.

Life.

Sergio's eye is present in all of them.

These shots, some chickens, widows, etc.

This other one, the funeral with guards

above keeping watch,

it portrays the moment of fear

that the city must have experienced
and Sergio behind.

Giuseppe Russo taking a nap

under the sacred heart.

To have been there in the bedroom

with him sleeping,

the truth is Sergio
must have become a good friend

and gained his trust

that I don't know how he managed

and how long it took.

But once this photo was published,

I'm sure he must have been
sentenced to death,

for high treason.

"I had no idea what the Mafia was.

They just said:

'Hey, here's another Leica camera

and some money,

go to Rome, stay at this hotel

and they will pick you up.

And you have to take photos in Sicily.'

But they didn't explain much more.

Then I arrive in Sicily,

and once I start taking the photos,

I begin to realize
what I've got myself into.

Then I understand the real weight of it."

He manages to get pretty close to them.

They don't consider the potential
importance of those photographs

and they give him access.

The last photo he took is the one
of the mafioso taking a nap

with the painting of Christ behind,

which he took at siesta time,

through the window shutters.

He knew then that it was dangerous.

So he went back to his hotel,

packed his suitcase and went to Rome

and then France.

When they saw all this at Magnum

and it brought in
a large amount of money,

because it was sold all over the world,

So Magnum said:

"We've got a gold mine here.

This photographer is going to bring us

more big news stories like this".

So they start to commission him

similar work.

And Queco is not good at that.

Queco is not a journalist,

Queco is not a reporter,

Queco is not a paparazzi.

He's a poet.

The power of the images
begins in the framing.

Sergio made framing

the essence of his work.

He went beyond academic framing.

He was daring.

He broke certain established
criteria of the time.

I think Sergio's photographs

need an interpretation key

to understand his photography.

Because he isn't immediate,

we need the photo's story

and his personal story.

Only with all those elements,

can we truly appreciate the quality
of Sergio's images.

What strikes me most is

that Larraín's photographs are like

when a washing machine is on spin mode,

it finishes and you open the machine,

and all the clothes
are around the drum, right?

And the center is free.

Everything happens on the edge.

Everything is on the verge of going out

but it's inside.

He starts to compose
with what we don't see.

Documentary photography,

in its beginnings, tried to say things,

to be clear, to be pertinent, to be just.

And here's this photographer,

in that same era,

who doesn't try to say everything,

he tries to suggest things,

and that was notable,
it was revolutionary,

for that time.

With Sergio we'd talk about

how difficult photography is.

Because in one click,

you've got to write a story.

What started to draw my attention

was what he looked at.

A sweater, a clock,

things we don't normally look at.

The earth, the contact between matter,

the lines.

This man who's cut, the tired dog,

he portrays the situation.

He said: "You need
to photograph the air."

It doesn't matter
if you cut someone's head,

or if there's a hand in the shot,
or an eye,

or it's out of focus.

He said: "Catch the air.

The air that's circulating,

that's what's important."

Sergio Larraín
is always in search of himself.

When he says that

when he scans the exterior,

with the rectangle in his hands,

the camera,

it is within himself

that he searches for the images.

To understand Sergio Larraín's work,

we must understand that text.

It's not the external world that matters.

The gaze,

the solitude,

the tenderness in that woman.

It is all there.

And the world passing by her,

totally indifferent.

The world moves around her.

And that second,

that fleeting millisecond

that we photographers are always chasing

and that he has.

There are photos of Sergio's in which

the damage in the characters' gazes

is a miracle.

And that is what moves me.

Photographing that damage, that solitude,

I know that he is
photographing his solitude,

that followed him to the end of his life.

There's a tremendous letter
which he wrote

to Cartier-Bresson in which he says:

"I've tried to do
what I have been asked."

Because he wants to be a good boy,

he doesn't want to let down this father,

that is Cartier-Bresson,

in the way he feels
that he has disappointed

his real father.

"Dear Henri,

Thank you for your letter.

It is always a joy to receive your news.

Here I am.

I spend most of the time writing

and I take a photograph here and there.

I'm disconcerted.

I love photography as a visual art,

like a painter loves painting.

That's the photography that I like.

But the work that sells
forces me to adapt.

It's like a painter having to make signs.

I don't like doing it.
It is a waste of time.

Taking good photographs is difficult,

it takes a long time.

I tried to adapt as soon
as I joined the group.

But I would like to find
a means that allows me

to act at a level
that is more vital for me.

I can't keep adapting myself.

That's why I'm writing.

I have a nine-month-old
daughter that I love.

A beautiful house. A kind wife.

And a desire to act,

which I need to do in a way

that is satisfactory for me.

My warmest regards, Sergio."

Love,

I'm going to buy

A little plane you can fly

At one point it was like a playground
for Chilean intellectuals

to go hang out in Valparaiso.

Where things happened,

the sailors, the girls,

the cabarets, the bohemia,

and the super interesting people
that came out of there.

Painters, musicians, architects,

politicians, priests

and prostitutes.

You like to dance
to the rhythm of "Chipi chipi"

There was
"The House of the Seven Mirrors",

and what a name:

"The House of the Seven Mirrors."

Where marvelous things happened.

Love, I'm going to buy

A little boat to sail

On our honeymoon

Love, I'm going to buy

A little train to take

And I asked him: "But Queco,

how did you manage to get so close up

in The House of the Seven Mirrors?"

That mixture of dance hall,
brothel, cabaret.

It wasn't easy to just
go there and take photos.

"Look," he said, "I'd go with my camera

in a paper bag,

I'd fit in, if I didn't draw attention,

I'd take the camera out of the bag

and leave it on the table.

I'd wait another twenty minutes,
another beer,

and if the coast was still clear,

I'd take the camera,
without making a fuss,

without getting up from my seat,

without moving, without making

any abrupt movements

and I'd take the photo."

There are books written about his work,

but by far the most important is,

"The Rectangle in the Hand".

It compiles Sergio's most important work,

the photos of the girls
coming down the steps

in the Bavestrello passage in Valparaiso.

One can recognize
Sergio Larraín's work immediately.

It's a talent that he had
from the beginning,

from the photos for the "Home of Christ",
the children from the Mapocho river.

One can see Larraín's
signature immediately.

This is the most famous photo,
this one here.

I'll show you if you like.

I managed to get this one in Paris.

A marvelous photo,

for me, it's one of the most important
photos in the world.

This one with the girls
going down the stairs.

He told me that first

he investigated the light,

the shadow,

he already knew that a certain time,

a certain moment,

would produce that play of light.

So he arrived, set up his camera,

not waiting for anything.

He would say that you had to be
like in the film

"The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,"

when he would draw his gun

and put it straight back.

It was the same with the camera,

he knew the aperture
and the speed in his mind,

he would take it out, shoot,
and lower it.

Attracting as little attention
as possible.

So, there he was,

when he sees a girl descending slowly.

He talks to her and asks
if she can walk down again.

When she goes down again,

another girl appears out of nowhere,
dressed almost in the same way.

And the miracle of reality occurs.

I found a photo
of my dad with me as a baby

and one of my dad from a magazine

from that time, it's sepia.

"Sergio Larraín photographing
the Plaza de Armas for 'Life' magazine."

For me, he was the image
of masculine beauty.

I had tremendous admiration

and even more so because I never saw him,

because I lived in France with my mother.

I saw photos of him

and I found him so handsome,

for me, all the actors at the time,
like Gregory Peck,

were nothing compared to my dad.

We went to Egypt, he and I.

He took me to Egypt.

I was little,

I must have been nine or ten years old.

And since my dad was clueless
about upbringing,

about what should and shouldn't be done,

I would climb the palm trees
like a monkey

and my dad wouldn't tell me off,

he didn't say anything.

So, it was a strange
father-daughter relationship,

not typical.

I think he had
an artistic hyper-sensitivity,

to create with a profoundness,

and on the other hand,

he was like an adolescent

that never adapted to anything.

He never wanted to adapt,

ever.

SERGIO LARRAÍN,
SEPTEMBER 11 - DECEMBER 22, 2013

Every time I went
to one of his exhibitions,

I felt like crying.

In general, when I see an exhibition,

I see the artist.

If I see a painting by Picasso,
I see Picasso.

If I see one of your paintings,
I see you.

If I see one of my dad's photos,
I see my dad.

And that is what moves me,
seeing the artist,

connecting with the artist.

I must have been around

seven or eight years old.

And I met him under
quite nice circumstances,

I met him as a potential boyfriend
of my mother's.

I think my mum had
the same passion for drawing

that Sergio had for photography.

They both had a way of capturing reality.

My mother with pencils and brushes,

and Sergio with his camera.

In that sense, they were doing something
very similar.

CARMEN SILVA
PAINTER

"Dear Sweetheart,

I've spent the entire trip writing

to all the people whose addresses I have.

It keeps me from getting
bored on an endless trip,

on a boat that sways so much.

We've been sailing in the canals recently

and the landscape is beautiful now.

I stand at the highest part of the ship,

I put the cameras down on the ground,

and I just watch.

I pick up a camera

and point it at a cloud a while,

then I put it down

and watch for a long while again,

while the water passes by the ship,

and soon we'll arrive in Punta Arenas,

where I plan to swirl around the region

and catch its incredible wonders.

Sweetheart, my love."

So beautiful!

See, all this watching,
watching the world,

capturing it, him with his camera,

my mother with her oil paints and paper.

Fantastic.

Queco returns to South America, to Chile,

as a sort of correspondent.

He sent many things. I think 90 per cent
of them weren't published.

And he told me
about his walks in the country

with Violeta Parra.

Violeta Parra with a tape recorder,

to record the songs of folk singers

and him taking photos.

They were good friends, intimate

with Violeta Parra.

The transparent look in his eyes.

He was a friendly being,

easy to establish
a relationship with him.

I have ten photos
and still frames of Sergio.

I don't know
why I didn't take more photos.

Because he was there for an hour talking,

maybe so as not to interrupt the moment

that was being created with him.

I should've taken more photos,

but it's too late now.

There's no point in regret

when you're in front of the light table,

with the entire roll

and what's there is there, it's done.

He went to Arica,

he got into Eastern meditation

and the world of drugs,

and he changed.

Queco was in search

of an internal transformation,

of the world, and people.

And his search was full-scale,

because Queco was very intense.

Queco took very seriously

the matter of transcendence.

The answer at that moment was a master.

So this produced

a sort of step in his mind.

Queco felt that one
had all the components,

but that the connection

with the energy was missing,

that know-how, that dexterity,

of doing an exercise

and obtaining an experience
from the exercise.

When Queco did it,

there was no doubt in his mind,

that he had entered the light.

Sergio Larraín

is the father of my second child.

He was a person that I met

when I was in the spiritual search

of the seventies,

I was told about a man
called Oscar Ichazo.

There was a lot of anguish at the time,

like there wasn't much hope.

And Oscar Ichazo brought
a ray of light somehow,

he was a very powerful man,

an extremely powerful man.

And strange, he was different.

He wasn't what you expected
from a master.

That period with the Arica group

was beautiful
because there was so much energy.

Everyone was very awake,

but I didn't have the notion yet.

I was too young to realize
that what we were experiencing there

was extremely profound
and truly wonderful.

Oscar decided that man shouldn't be alone

but rather with a woman,

and I was there in the group with Queco,

I had already separated from my husband,

because the energy of the Arica group

was very tumultuous and intense

and many couples broke up.

So Queco,

who liked to do things very precisely,

and Oscar had just said that man
wasn't alone but with woman,

he decided that I was there

and I was ideal,

and so we became a couple at that moment.

We were always moving towards

reaching higher levels of consciousness.

The higher the state of consciousness

of the person who takes that Satori,

the more perfect the photo will be.

In the sense of Satori,

of being able to bring
Satori to photography.

Of being able to transmit that state,

where you look at something

with complete consciousness

and it's reproduced in the photo.

Because Satori is about being here

in the present moment,

which is what Queco
most valued all the time:

the present.

The night I was initiated,

we were two new women.

So, I got undressed
and I went in wearing just my underwear.

It was like a spiritual exercise,

and I was in the lotus position,

there were certain positions.

And well, sexually,
it was the ultimate experience.

What can I tell you?
The man was a genius.

But after having so much sex with him,

I was never that interested in sex again.

It was very secret.

It was only with the women

and the men couldn't know,

because according to Oscar men
were at a much lower level than women.

My friends,
all the women that were there,

never told.

But I did.

I told Queco.

And I think it was a big mistake.

The Tantrayana work
we did with Oscar Ichazo

was not well received.

I think that troubled him a lot.

It troubled him

forever.

But he made a big mistake

when he took my son
Juan Jose away from me.

A child should never be taken away
from their mother. Ever.

In some way, Queco had defeated me.

And I didn't fight him.

I didn't fight him.

Queco was a person
whose mood would change.

You could be talking to him

and the look in his eyes would shift,

and you could see
that his look was different.

He was a different person.

Queco had a lot of internal demons

and they were intense.

He had a lot of internal conflicts.

He hurt people that he loved very much.

I think that was one
of his greatest battles:

with himself.

In the end, he stopped
being a photographer.

He was searching for himself,
searching for peace.

He had gone to the North,

he had already self-exiled.

That's Tulahuén over there.

It's so dark in here, does it show up?

Yes, it looks good!

Let's pose here.

The walnut trees...

Look at that!

Lovely.

Come and look around a bit.
I'm going to check on the jam.

Yes, so it doesn't stick.

Look, come and see,
this is Ao's official room.

Well...

This was my father's house,

Sergio Larraín Echeñique,

who might have been a photographer
for everyone else,

but for me he was just my father.

Today this is my house, well,

it was my house growing up too,

but it was considered my father's house.

Now I'm going to show you
which room was mine.

This was my room, it's a bit untidy now

because it's not being used
at the moment,

and the house got a bit destroyed
by the earthquake.

Well, I built this bedroom
just how I wanted it.

While the house was being built,

I decided that this was my room.

This was my father's monk cell,

where he would sit and write,
meditate, paint, draw.

I think there's a photo
with this image here.

Well, the monk's cell,
or "monk's office",

is where the monk secludes himself,

to be within himself.

Well, it's just another room really,

but it has the things needed to be calm,

and where he can do what he wants,

it centers him and brings him
inside himself.

I took this photo while he was
sitting in his monk cell,

at the moment when he was doing
what he did in his monk cell:

writing, taking notes,
creating sentences,

compiling, making his lists,

because he was always making his lists.

You go to bed, get up in the morning,

I'm hungry, I'll make myself breakfast,

of course, I made myself breakfast,

because my dad didn't...

It was better not to bother him
and tell him you were hungry.

You were best off making it yourself.

Because he didn't like to be interrupted,

particularly when he was concentrated.

Plus he was a little
temperamental, let's say.

His mood was a little changeable.

He could be in a really good mood

and then all of a sudden he wasn't.

And he had a bit of a poker face,

so you couldn't tell from his face
what was going on.

He was right about a lot of things,

but a lot of others he needed to update

and bring down to earth a bit.

He idealized them a little maybe.

But at the end of his life he did realize

and start to ground them.

And it was part of a mutual evolution.

Mine, because I was growing up,

and him, growing as a father with me.

He had no idea how to be a dad,

and no one does until it's their turn.

I finally found Sergio.

He accepted my camera,

but he asked me not to film his face.

Sergio showed me his photos
and his watercolors.

He always had the unrelenting need

to correct himself,

to seek perfection.

I listened as he talked to me
about photography

as a spiritual discipline.

He was in another world,

in an immaterial world,

in a spiritual world,

a utopian world,

and it was often impossible
to follow him.

The only challenge you have is to achieve

the perfection of the rectangle.

And the subject has no importance at all,

at that moment
you enter another dimension,

because you enter the order of reality.

You are organizing your consciousness,

and your center, and your body.

The moment you achieve
a really good photo

is the moment that you align yourself

and have a moment of Satori.

When you take a photo, it's a rectangle,

with the things inside,

but the stronger lines are the borders.

Because it's not easy to reach reality.

Everyone is dreaming,

but to get here, you've got
to transcend dreams.

In the end...

he had, I don't know if it's the courage,

or strength

or if it was just inevitable,

but he stopped taking photographs.

I think someone that stops like that,

someone so well-known,
that did great things,

that stops suddenly and does
something completely different,

whatever their field is,

deserves a certain respect.

Pompeii here...

JOSEF KOUDELKA
MAGNUM PHOTOGRAPHER

I met him by chance

when he first arrived in Paris

and we became friends straight away.

I think our meeting
was important for him.

But I think Sergio

had enormous talent,

but it was cut short.

He didn't complete his work.

He didn't take full advantage
of his capability.

And when he would always send me letters,

saying: "We have to save the world"

or "We have to do this",

I would say:
"Sergio, you have an ability

that not everyone has,

don't send me any more letters,

send me photographs.

Pick up your camera
and take some photos."

He did send me some photos

but they weren't that good,

or at least I didn't like them.

When he wanted to destroy his material,

I said, "No way."

I didn't destroy anything.

He was an extraordinary guy,

but I think that he didn't reach

his full potential.

And that is sad for us,

maybe not for him,

because he did what he wanted.

He had the ability, but he didn't take
full advantage of it.

I don't know what happened

with him later on.

But he must have had the life he wanted.

Here's to Sergio!

I remember him well.

The last time I saw him he didn't have
his camera with him,

and I said, "Queco, the camera?
Didn't you bring your camera?"

"No", he said, "photography is useless."

That was terrible.

I said: "Queco, what do you mean?"

"No", he said, "It's useless.

It doesn't change the world."

A letter...

that says, "Sweetheart".

He called me Sweetheart.

"Here is 'Valparaiso' finished,

with text and everything.

The original is in Paris, in Magnum,

in English.

"With the Valparaiso book,

I felt like going there to take photos.

I prepared my camera, rolls
and traveled to Ovalle,

and from there
I took a night bus to Valparaiso."

I went up to the room on the third floor

that looks over the little square

with the Arturo Prat monument.

And the room was poetry itself.

I started, I took out my camera,

I prepared everything,

I started to photograph.

With my camera ready, I set off

to one of the port's funiculars.

One with a long set of steps.

A very steep set of steps.

With people coming down in a hurry
to get to work.

It was the most beautiful
start to the day.

I spent three hours taking photos.

The day, the streets,

the hills, the elevators,

it is the most poetic walk

that you can take on the planet.

Delightful, tender, naive,

fragile, fantastic.

So good, that one can't imagine

that there is so much beauty
on the planet.

The droplets after the rain

on the urban landscape.

Landscapes in detail: a gem.

Four hours had passed,

engrossed in the miracle of poetry,

taking photographs.

Now I am developing,

and I captured something of the delight
of doing things with love,

for pleasure, for oneself.

I have enlarged about 14 photos
of the new shots of Valparaiso.

They're really good!

Combined with the night shots

that I will never be able to do again,

at 60 years old, it's just not possible.

You can't do more than one
or two subjects in your life.

You have to connect completely,

like when you get married.

You only do that with one
or two places in your life.

No more. That's enough.

He knew poetry,

painting,

spirituality.

I've never been able to detach myself

100 per cent like he could,
he didn't care,

he'd throw everything to the wind

and he lived at peace.

I think he knew that I forgave him,

because I stayed with him.

After all, I was the only one

who stayed with him

and put up with him,

because he was a character,

he had his... highs and lows.

That whole struggle throughout our lives,

to find each other,

which I managed to turn around,

and in the end,

when we loved each other deeply

and were such good friends,

he left.

I was so sad when he died.

I think that here
he felt attacked from all sides,

by demands, expectations,

what people would say,

what's worthwhile, what's not.

There, he was able to create his kingdom.

Being there was good for Queco.

Is it recording?

-Yes.
-Okay, ready.

Now we've entered
universal consciousness.

The candle is a symbol of unity.

Life!

But, are you seeing
what consciousness is?

Start by slowly closing your eyes,

breathe with a steady rhythm

and bring it to your abdomen

for three minutes.

Visualize yourself going into
the Solar Plexus chakra,

located in the stomach area,

continue breathing rhythmically,

inhaling and exhaling steadily.

Now, imagine that you have
a candle flame in your spinal cord

that rises with every breath

from the bottom to the top,

for one minute.

The golden-white candle,

now above your head,

slowly spreads throughout your whole body

until it transforms into a bubble

of golden-white light.

The golden bubble expands throughout
the whole room.

Let it grow more and more

until it reaches the size
of the building you are in.

Continue slowly expanding
the bubble of light

to cover the entire planet.

Sense your auric field of light,

and feel one with the light.

Mentally use the mantra for one minute.

I am love, I am love, I am love.

I am God, I am God, I am God.

I am light, I am light, I am light.

In this state of serenity,

visualize a white light above your head,

that begins to spread through you.

With your mind's eye
observe that you can start to communicate

verbally with your guide,

as if an old friend has come back

into your life again.

FOR MY MOTHER, VERONICA