About
Chris.

He came to photography late. Trained as a sculptor at the Rhode Island School of Design and then at the Real Academia in Madrid, he spent ten years cutting marble and casting bronze before he ever owned a serious camera. The transition happened slowly — a Hasselblad found in a Cartagena flea market in 2014, an apprenticeship under a portrait photographer there for two years, and then, gradually, a practice of his own.

His pictures retain a sculptor’s eye. The bodies he photographs are geometries — balanced and weighted, lit so that mass and volume read the way they would in stone. He is not interested in eroticism, nor really in beauty in the conventional sense. He is interested, he says, in what light does to skin when no one is performing.

Sessions are long. Most run six to eight hours, broken by lunch and coffee, and conducted on film — chiefly Tri-X 400 in medium format. The studio in Los Angeles is a converted garage off Sunset, with a single north-facing window and a tile floor. The rooms he uses on commission — in a sandstone apartment in Cartagena, in a borrowed Granada courtyard, in a friend’s flat in Lavapiés — are chosen for similar light.

His work has appeared in Aperture, The Plant Journal, Apartamento, and in two solo shows: Granada (Galería La Caja Negra, Madrid, 2022) and Tile, Linen, Skin (Cooper Cole, Los Angeles, 2024). Prints are held in private collections in Mexico City, Antwerp, and Berkeley.

He is currently at work on a long book, provisionally titled An Index of Quiet, due in late 2027.