Modernity is a set of tales from which we, Latin Americans and Caribbeans, mostly get what is left. The tail of the progress hits us leaving behind erased memories, rivers of plastic, plates full of sand. And still, we, here, in these lands of former and new colonial treasures, haven’t learned to look at ourselves sincerely, genuinely.
Praising the images that foreign eyes make of us, we copy their exoticism, objectification, sexualisation; we are exotic to ourselves, we are a fiction to ourselves. How can we, Caribbeans, visually articulate the mixtures, contradictions and encounters that are constantly influencing our many identities and stories? What images can we imagine and create that dare to counter-narrate fixed repeated narratives about ourselves?