There is a sufferance that is inflicted and that is continuing to be inflicted, that people still choose to ignore.

As a British born person with West African descent, I understand very well the pain of discrimination and the fear of not progressing through society, which has kept me quite for way too long.
Over time I came to terms with injustice and accepted it, as accepting abuse because of the colour of my skin was just the way things were and are. It is part of the norm.

That does not make it right.

As a black man, as an artist, as a human, I refuse to turn a blind eye to the virus of racism, and to how deeply it has harmed our society.

Through the lens I chose to find a way to try and help people see. To try and help people empathise. To try and help people connect with the humanity of not just people of colour, rather of all those who wish to speak truthfully about the costs of racism.

There are people out there who understand, and there are people who don’t understand but decide to stand and support the cause. We know that there is no equality, and without equality there is no such thing as a just, healthy society.

This series of portraits encompasses people belonging to different generations, genders, religions, ethnicities and walks of life. Every one of them belongs to the same race: the human.

Each portrait reflects in different ways what stands at the core of the Black Lives Matter Movement: the struggle of many of us to bring people together, against the centrifugal force of racism which is designed to tear people apart.

The struggle of those who choose to be honest about the situation and with themselves, and to undertake the uncomfortable path of demonstrating, rather than cocooning in the safety of their bubble, leaving the burden of the fight to others.

breaking the silence

Please use headphones for full effect.

These open and honest stories pose a debate about domestic abuse and stereotypical roles by exploring each the individual’s experiences. This body of work conveys the vulnerability and strength from the point of view of men who suffered from and work to overcome years of domestic abuse in the hopes of increasing awareness...


These are stories of silent resistance and inextinguishable hope collected in the streets of Havana.

Oh, Havana!

Your majestic buildings, crumbling giants that stand out against the Caribbean sky, whisper tales of your glorious past and present oblivion.

In their shadow, your children work miracles to carve their way through life.

Their struggles interweave with the wrinkles on their faces, their resilience lights their eyes up with pride.

Imagination is the viaticum during decades of colonialism, regime and embargos; the ultimate shelter in times of deprivation; the antidote even to the worst of constraints.

Faced with the imperative questions of how to eat, how to move, how to survive, each Cuban knows that the most precious resource lies within, at the very limits – and beyond! - of their being human.

Of how to recycle, reuse, repurpose.

This is the story of a family challenged by necessity, who improvised themselves as paper recyclers to survive.

Of how to convert stillness in motion.

This is the story of bicycle taxis, who move a whole city immobilized by the lack of oil during  decades of embargos.

Of how to wait and hope, try, try again and catch (maybe).

This is the story of fishermen that meet along the Malecon every morning to earn their keep.  

tokyo UN masked

"tokyo UN masked" saw the light the moment where, after days of wandering around the streets of Tokyo with the intent of meeting “real Japan”, I realized that the biggest challenge a foreigner has is to meet its inhabitants.

Truth be told, one cannot avoid noticing how comfortable Tokyoites are in the surgical masks they wear in public. And even though hygiene seems to be the reason behind this habit, my gut told this cannot be the case, not in all the circumstances. I got back to the streets of Tokyo with the intent of asking passer-bys to take off their masks and let me take a portrait of them. The great majority declined, but some showed trust, and accepted to unveil their face to me and to the audience.

In the intimate process of getting closer with the lens to their naked face, while having them sitting on a stool at the edges of a sidewalk under the eyes of everybody, I realized how a big deal personal space is in Japanese culture, and how useful a mask can be to protect one own's identity. In its race for technological primacy, in all its
methodical organization, meticulousness and politeness – the human Tokyo is happy to hide.