My name is Edinson Jiménez. I was born in Barranquilla, Colombia and I’m now permanently based in Budapest, Hungary.
I came all the way here for several reasons, one of them being my desire to be a full time visual and written communicator. Writer? Photographer? Documentarian?
It never seemed to me like an obvious course of action, but I knew that I wanted to make a living doing the only thing that I’m good at: finding visual metaphors in everyday situations and articulating their meaning to the best of my ability. I’ve been given an insatiable curiosity for visual symbolism and the creative imperative to put into words whatever my eyes cannot see. For me, what I do is take photographs intuitively and write about them. For the highbrow art experts, what I do is heresy. For normal people, some of my pictures are cool and some of my poems are fun to read.
There is a common belief between those who “know about art” that certain disciplines don’t mix: photo albums are assumed to be photobooks because words, in their opinion, are redundant next to images and photographs can be discussed and interpreted by everyone else except by the photographer himself. There are many arbitrary nonsensical rules such as these that have been imposed in order to keep the common folk relegated to pop culture and away from the arts. Because art, according to some, has to be an intellectual exercise that only the expertly trained can perform and understand.
But there is also an audience for honest and spontaneous forms of expression, and I know that there are people in this world who resonate with my way of doing things and with my way of thinking. Maybe you are one of them.
Artists these days are known for spending more time networking than working. That is a stereotype I refuse to identify with. I’ve never been to a cocktail party, never paid for a public review of my work, never believed in nepotism. I don’t have any appearances to maintain, so I don’t have to abide by the dictates of an elite group of self-appointed gatekeepers who are terrified of not being the ones holding the keys anymore. I don’t have the academic profile and the social standing of the photographers you normally see in fine art galleries and museums. I am nobody, which is an absolute blessing: it allows me to be free from having to convince you that you should like me personally or my ideology or my political opinions. I am free to focus on producing my prints and doing my writing, and let you decide if you like my work or not, for the merit of it and for its merit alone.
I could go deeper into the perverse incentive structure of the artistic ouroboros, about the money laundry side of the art industry and the idea laundry side of the art academy; I could linger on the network of personal and professional favours that has come to replace the talent and hard work that artists used to have, but most people are aware of these facts already.
The reason I bring this up is because this page is titled “Art. Not Artist”. I value art and I have an artistic sensitivity, some people label my work as art for lack of a better word, and sometimes I do the same. However, I don’t consider myself an artist, at least not by the conventional postmodern definition that rules the current discourse. Feel free to call me whatever you want. I don’t mind. What I truly care about is that you appreciate my work for what it is.
I am nothing more than a man with a calling to create, and in a world where who you pretend to be matters more than what you do, I invite you to focus on the message and spare the messenger, because that’s all I am; I’m just a vehicle for the spirit of my aim. My words are mine only while I write them, but they have been given to me so that I can pass them on to you; just the same way that my photographs do not come from me, but through me; I borrow a moment from the past and give it back to you at a future time. Whatever meaning I can convey by virtue of my work will find its place in the open hearts and in the open minds of those who are willing to receive it. That’s where you come into the picture, and this is where my introduction ends.
Now you know a thing or two about me. Hopefully I will have the fortune to hear about you one day. I hope that you find some value in my work; if not, I hope that you share it with someone who might; and if not, then I hope that you find such value eventually. Somewhere, somebody, some day, will produce a photograph or a piece of writing that will touch your soul.
You will know it when you see it.
In the meantime, come on in and take a look around. You may find it here after all. One never knows.
