The river mouth is the point where a river empties.

An exchange between fresh and salty waters.

One body pouring into another.

Boats navigate that meeting… and miss each other.

Some, anchored, long to depart; others wish to return.
I long for movement.

I admire the boldness of those who come from a narrow, winding path and throw themselves into the infinite.

Chapada dos Veadeiros is a land where earth, water, and sky intertwine in an infinite flow of connection.

This photographic series was born from an immersion in that landscape, inspired by a visit to Quilombo Kalunga—the largest quilombola community in Brazil. A place rich in history, where traditions, customs, and a way of life are preserved and passed down through generations.

It was also within Kalunga territory that I discovered one of the most breathtaking waterfalls I’ve ever seen: Santa Bárbara Waterfall. A true natural spectacle, with turquoise-blue waters so clear they seem unreal—an irresistible invitation to dive in and forget about time.

Here, two childhoods remind us that the present carries the past and shapes the future. They are heirs of stories and guardians of knowledge, a people who persist. They embody time in their skin, in their songs, in their gaze.

The Krahô, who live in northern Tocantins and are part of the Timbira nation, reveal in their bodies the ancestry that shapes them.

Their body paint is more than adornment—it is ritual, protection, belonging. The natural pigments—urucum, genipap, and charcoal—tell of clans, life cycles, and a deep connection with nature.

To document the journey of Indigenous peoples is to recognize other ways of knowing, living, and existing.

With only two centuries of contact with the white world, the Krahô stand strong—with their feet on the earth and their eyes on time.

And so, their children grow without forgetting who they are or where they come from.

In the stillness of the moment, the tree breaks free from the limits of the real and surrenders to movement.

Its branches, once firm, now float like living brushstrokes in the air. Light slides through the forms, tracing invisible paths, turning matter into rhythm.

Here, the focus is not on rigid contours, but on the fleeting impression of motion. Like a dream, reality dissolves into golden streaks, blues, and shadows that dance.

Abstract photography is not about capturing what exists, but about feeling what transforms.

And so, the tree becomes a dance, and the image, poetry.

In this photographic series, the Baianas of Candomblé dance Bahia’s February 2nd with the lightness of waves and the firmness of roots that do not bend. Dressed in white, with skirts spinning like tides and necklaces bearing ancestral memories, they walk the stone streets as if each step were a prayer.

They are moving prayers, embroidered with axé, guardians of a faith that has crossed centuries. On Iemanjá’s day, they spread the blue magic of a people who dance, sing, and honor their history.

With every gesture, they remind us that Bahia cannot be explained—it must be felt. Because the Baianas are mystery, strength, and enchantment. They are the sacred that dances between two worlds.

On February 2nd, in Bahia, boats set sail slowly, laden with flowers, perfumes, and promises. They cross the sea like liquid prayers, offerings to Iemanjá: lady of paths and secrets.

On this day, the sea does not divide. It unites. It is embrace, passage, destiny. Every boat drifting from the shore carries the most intimate of silences: wishes, gratitude, longing.

There is something sacred in the ballet of waves against the hulls, in the wind that propels, in the chant that follows. These are gestures of faith that need no words—for here, everything is understood with the body, with the heart, with time.

In Bahia, hope sails. And never sinks.

The sea is the path traveled by the children of Iemanjá. Love is their language.
Flowers, perfumes, and mirrors glide across the waters like secrets…
In the sway of the waves, the mother embraces them with her salty embrace and tides of wisdom.
This is more than a conversation between mother and children; it is a bond that transcends the visible, an act of faith.

Between the shadows of bridges and the silence of gondolas, Venice embodies what the world has forgotten to be.
A place where every detail is an invitation to uncover hidden mysteries, whether in the colorful facades,
the stillness of the stone, or the charm of the narrow alleyways.

On the edges of its canals, time plays at standing still, and the bridges hold memories of a city that
floats and brings lightness to the soul.
In Venice, every step, every turn, and every click is an invitation to drift between dream and reality.

In the shadows of concrete, where urban chaos gives way to the stillness of lines, structural silences emerge. Each angle captured in black and white reveals more than shapes; it unveils the unspoken dialogue between light and shadow, between the city and those who inhabit it.

In the corners of glass and steel, hidden pauses reside—moments that echo suspended time. The buildings, towering and steadfast, whisper stories of permanence, resisting the frenetic rhythm pulsing below.

Black-and-white photography does more than document; it translates. It transforms visual noise into a moment of introspection, where contrast reveals the essential and emptiness becomes poetry. It is there, in the quietude of urban architecture, that the gaze finds rest.

We can feel when we’re living one of those moments that will mark us forever.

I realized this as I sailed up that river in southern Bahia, on a small fisherman’s boat, surrounded by an atmosphere of simplicity and brilliant colors.

Even while savoring every minute of that gift, I was instantly transported to my past when I noticed the pennants framing the landscape of that sunset.

Without realizing it, I shifted the camera shutter away from the horizon and started photographing the little flags being pierced by the sun’s rays, frenetically fluttering in the wind. Everything there seemed magical.

I believe this story reinforces something I feel about capturing moments, something that goes beyond technique, good equipment, timing, light, and place. I feel that photography, in the act itself, carries our own memories, important pieces of our history that have shaped who we’ve become and led us to where we are now.