Over the years, La Plaza El Venezolano has transformed in my eyes into something beyond a public square. What began as documentation has become a meditation on memory—on how space absorbs time, gestures, and sound until it breathes on its own. Through the lens, I have watched the plaza shift tones with the passing light: mornings washed in yellow, the warmth of new gatherings; evenings deepening into blue, where every shadow holds the echo of a dance.
Louis Kahn once described the shadow as blue and the light as yellow—a thought that has lingered with me. In this project, that duality becomes the emotional axis: the yellow of presence, the blue of remembrance. Between them, life unfolds in layers of rhythm and silence, of laughter and longing. The plaza becomes a vessel that contains both what is and what was, both the dancer and their trace.
In time, I have come to see Los Pasos Prohibidos as a map of gestures—an archaeology of joy. Each photograph, each fragment of movement, becomes a portal into imagination, where reality and reverie coexist. The rumba persists not only as celebration, but as dreamwork: an act of preservation through the imagination, a choreography that resists disappearance.
This work, then, is not just about witnessing; it is about remembering through making, about finding meaning in the interplay of light and shadow. The plaza, like the dance, continues to change, yet its spirit remains—alive in memory, alive in the blue.