On February 20, 2017, Sofía Imber died, I was in the Dominican Republic at the Altos de Chavón School, and a strange sadness invaded me that night.
I had met Sofía in the 80s, worked in downtown Caracas, and used to walk at noon to the Caracas Museum of Contemporary Art; I went through the rooms and had a quick lunch, all during my lunch hour. Several times I saw her in the rooms, I greeted her, and somehow, I felt close to her.
That night in the Dominican Republic, I had the irrepressible desire to take a portrait of him, so I looked on my computer for the portrait that José Sigala had made of him, and I pointed my Polaroid at the screen, using the same technique that I had used for other re-photography jobs.
I took all eight available photos with little pauses between them. In the end, the result was these degraded images, the result of the inconsistency of the material that Impossible produced at that time, trying to reproduce the original Polaroid film.
It could not have been more perfect, Sofía, fading from this world, from my memory, and from those images with which I intended to keep her forever.