The Amazon is much more than a river. It is the visible appearance, infinitely rich in analogies, of the reality of things. This seems obvius, when poetic languages intervenes to describe reality, the latter loses its documentary sharpness and is converted into a creative fantasy, especially in the specific sense that the river embodies the ironic and sombre essence of the universe.
I have contemplated this river and its affluents in small doses, and small steps, because like a bashful child, it only showed its epidermis; this I found irritating.
But traveling so sedately meant that all that surrounded me remained hidden until the river itself disgorged all its "splendours" along its various stretches: globetrotters, beggars, preachers, drunken aborigines, ruined foremen, minor politicians, lumberjacks, monks, soldiers, melancholic prostitutes... I find it strange that the beautiful image of this river, is in reality a beautiful imperfection. And Fordlândia, Henry Ford's attempt to transform the jungle into a fantasy of the american Mid West, is the perfect imperfection: a perfect failure of the American Way of Life.

One Eyed Ulysses proposes a meandering voyage where solitude, melancholy, the encounter with death and nature in marginal settings are some of the themes that run through it. The aim of this book of photos is not to document a specific epoch , but rather to sum up human experience so that we may contemplate its images on an equal plane and from the same view point from which we observe them.

"Every work of art affords the recipient the context(space) for a game whose rules he has to invent"