Today, as every 23rd of March, I dedicate some time to remember my brother Beto, to try to listen to his voice as it still comes to me from the ever receding corridors of my brain. I have never printed these two shots: the one on top is from the summer of 1984 when he first arrived in San Francisco and had come to live with us: Laura, Sahara and myself. We had just arrived in the US after three years in Cali and he had been living in Las Vegas after his European adventures.
The lower one was taken in 1988-89 and life had taken some surprising turns but we always saw each other and, best of all, I always had my camera ready for another portrait of my brother. Today, after so many years and lost memories, I am grateful to have a record of his face and the sound of his voice still reverberating in my head. I will love him for ever, he is always in my mind.