This is a personal series. For a year I allowed myself one roll of black-and-white film a month and one sitter per roll, usually a friend, sometimes a stranger.

Twelve frames

Twelve frames is not much, so you wait. You wait for the hair to cross the face, for the shoulders to drop, for the moment after the person stops performing. Some months I used all twelve on the first afternoon. Some months I came home with nothing.

The prints were made by hand on fibre paper at the lab on Rua da Rosa. They hang in the studio and change a little every time the light does.