In a text about my early works in Venice, Guido Cecere noted the failure of photography to capture the sound of the water pumps and the smell of stagnant water in the empty canals.

That is a fact that cannot be denied, but a photograph is subject to the subjective eye of the person who looks at it, and this being so it can indeed evoke smells and sounds.

On this occasion, however, I want to talk not about this subjectivity but about my process when I produce the picture, when I often work in total darkness. What I see through the camera is almost nothing. But the image has already settled in my mind and it is my mind that guides me through the process in the real darkness in which I do what I do. In this darkness one is ‘blind’ and is at this point that I can trust the other senses that are not visual. Smell, hearing, thinking, instinct. At bottom, I am not alone in thinking that all of the senses end up connecting. The exposure can take hours, many hours, and the result is often a special light, almost like daylight, but always imagined. A light closely linked, in my case, to the idea of time.

The slow time of the photograph is coupled with the slow time of the object photographed, loaded with memory, resistant to annihilation, to disappearing completely, despite the constant threats it endures and has endured. In memory the temporal concept shatters and all of the possible times end up fusing together.

Primoz Bizjak