Tonight we start the celebration Day of the Dead in Oaxaca. The spirit of one of Mexico’s most iconic celebrations lives in the memories of eleven wonderful years of shooting and living this feast. Having the opportunity to visit old friends, familiar altars and catching up with “my families” is the driving force that makes me come back year after year.

From the solemnity of Xoxo, to the breathtaking beauty of Atzompa, to the randomness of Etla, to the newly found insanity of Yahuiche, every place here speaks of tradition and deeply rooted beliefs. The mysticism and symbolism of the Catrina guided us through every graveyard and introduced us to countless spirits.  At night, we witness souls returning to paths of marigolds and seas of candles as their loved ones wait in excitement. When it came to photography, the ever-present Mezcal served as the holy elixir that drove inspiration and creativity. We danced, we sang, we played and wandered through centuries of tradition and allegory.

As an old man told me during one rainy morning,“The spirits are crying as it is time to leave after having such a good time here.”Today, the same way I have done for eleven years, I cry too as I leave behind my own soul in this holy ground.

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