I stayed for a long time looking at the photo, trapped in the weather it had, in the thousands of shades of gray that made up the image. I released the air that I had forgotten in my lungs. If the image had sounded it would have been a strident and silent symphony. It was a photo developed with platinum-palladium and it was like a call.

In the following months, the platinum-palladium images came back to me: for an intimate photobook, for alien jellyfish, for the images of Shackleton in Antarctica, for the profound portraits of who knows what ethnic group.

I had to go for platinum-palladium. I didn't ask myself why or what for, I began to investigate: the question was who. Who could teach me, what nineteenth-century spirits had to be awakened to bring this revelation into my life.

Learning platinum-palladium requires a guide to take you along the path you have taken: with your successes and mistakes, on what you have experienced and reflected on, on what you have read, on what you have been frustrated with, with the little big victories from laboratory.

I came across a brotherhood scattered around the world, which is captivated by the same thing. A couple of months ago in Barcelona and Espinavessa, and last week in Santiago de Chile I learned to develop with platinum-palladium through absolute immersion sessions. They were days of extreme joy, they were intense days, they were days of meeting wonderful people to whom I will always be grateful for sharing their knowledge and hospitality with me.

Now all that lusciousness comes to me: an embryonic image floating in one vat, and then another and another, under waves of red light. Some steps that seem like magic so that, if I have been rigorous, something appears that conveys a feeling, something that tugs at some intimate fiber. The secret emotion of creating something beautiful. Something: an image that speaks for me.