Not too long ago, I snuck under a well-bent fence and into an abandoned loft building, all in the name of art. When photographer, Edwin and I walked in, I felt the welcoming bright energy of an entity who, despite the few remaining physical memories of lives lived within it, knew itself to be a place of shelter.
Knowing we were going to break some rules to get this shoot done, I styled myself with clothes and colors inspired by my father's bloodline. I pulled out ruffles a la Flamenca, and depicted secret folk spells meant to keep the family safe and solid under the guise of a domestic faux-pas. Do you recognize any of the traditions?
If you have the guts, leave your guess in the comments.