Ralph Bennett Crignola
I approach San Pedro de Atacama and in the distance I hear drums and flutes, songs from saturated speakers, syncopated pulses, choirs of grandmothers with two, three voices, drums, unintelligible, monstrous screams, laughter, praises to the saints; to those who are on duty and also to Santa Rosa, San Antonio… to the saint who appears at the time. And of course to Christ: “long live Christ, long live, long live Christ” some grandmothers sing in a sad and out of tune church song.
It’s hot in the driest desert in the world. “Long live Christ, long live, long live Christ” sing some grandmothers in a sad and out of tune church song. But this mixture of scales, drums, brass, songs, whistles and flutes that seem to enclose the town in an invisible wall of notes is even more pungent to the ear. Murmurs coming from the corners of their white houses.
It is ironic to know that San Pedro, better known for his fishing skills, is the patron saint of this town lost in the middle of nowhere. In a no salt and almost zero water. In the middle of an oasis where little grows, except for some luxury boutique hotels that seek to blend in with their surroundings, vans with tourists attracted by lunar names such as “Valley of Patience” and the occasional multimillion-dollar astronomical project.
Today the town celebrates. With garlands. With flowers.
Celebrate the saints as has been done for too long. They come from the different Ayllus with the dances of the Torito, the Catimbano, the Negro and Pedro and Pablo. Some come from afar. Disguised with boots, swords, cow suits, strange hats and even suris on their backs. Disguised with velvets, lycras and nylon. The penitents are sweating and will do their best to make the trip worthwhile.
The bishop waits in a dark church. The air is rarefied.
The dance schools enter in order to deliver their greetings to the Patron. There are no seats left. There are warriors with swords, exhausted musicians who continue stamping their feet and raising an impenetrable curtain of dust, curious people, tourists, achaches, Agostos, Rosas, Negras, Franciscanos and Margaritas. Virgins on litters and Christs with natural hair that are scary. The paganism of the old Lickan Antai community mixes and embraces with rites and images of the Spanish conqueror to form this; probably the most beautiful expression of syncretism in Chile.
About the Author:
I am a publicist by profession. I worked for many years as a creative in national and multinational advertising agencies and also in the Communications Department of the ALMA Observatory in San Pedro de Atacama, where I was in charge of Community Relations between the organization and the Atacameño peoples and ayllús of the area.
Since I can remember I have liked photography and accompanied my father for hours reviewing his immense collection of National Geographic.
A short time ago I decided to dedicate myself completely to photography and I mainly do corporate photography having worked, among others, with the Chilean Museum of Pre-Columbian Art, HPBiliton, Fundación Chile, COPEC, Inmobilia, Transap, ESMAX and the NGO Survival International.
My absolute passion, yes, is the analog in black and white. Whenever I can I try to travel to record social / cultural / anthropological issues that concern me and I think are important.
An 80mm prime lens forces the zoom to be my feet and the lack of auto focus means that some photos are not “perfect” as you might expect from a digital camera with infinite focus points. But I think that also helps to make the image a little more real, according to the aesthetic that I’m going for.
The “slowness” of my old Rolleiflex gives me the necessary time to understand what I want to communicate. Everything becomes a ritual. A magical ballet where I let myself be captivated by what is happening in front of me. The images are then resurrected in my dark room and I never cease to be moved.
Gear:
Camera: Rolleiflex
Optics: 80mm
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