Bendición: Seeing, Feeling & Holding Onto a Moment
I often take photographs like this—scenes that seem quiet, mundane, easy to overlook. A horse standing in the wind, a mountain framed by blinds, an old truck. But when I was in this home, on this ranch, I felt something—a connection to a different pace of life.
A quieter life, one that felt meaningful in its simplicity. Something about it made me want to hold onto the feeling, to capture it before it faded. Photography has always been that for me—a way to relive the emotions that linger in a place, even after I’ve left.
In doing this, I’ve learned to pay attention to the small, familiar details—the ones that make a home feel lived in. The paintings we grow up with, the way a table is always set the same way, the quiet presence of faith in a room.
Over the dinner table hung a framed Last Supper with the word "Bendición" written across it—a blessing over the food, over the space, over the people who gathered there. These moments don’t demand to be remembered, but they should be. They are what ground us.
I took these images last year at a ranch in California, where Pablo had brought us to film a video for my dear friend Moka. But what stayed with me wasn’t just the project—it was the hospitality of a family, the way their home looked out at the landscape like a painting.
It was the young boy swinging his lasso, effortlessly, showing me what he had been practicing. I watched him move under the open sky, the mountains behind him.
I took these photos and am sharing this short story because it felt important to remember this blessing. This story is called Bendición.