Barbiro and I are coworkers at the computer center. He is no professional model and I didn’t study art. At work, we seem strange birds. I’ve photographed Barbiro for years. In that time, his wife had open-heart surgery, got cancer, and had her first stroke. Recently, Barbiro told me she cries when he goes to be photographed. He said the photography keeps him sane. My coworkers laughed when I said I was going to photograph him. You’ll see. I said, Barbiro will be a masterpiece.
Once, Barbiro appeared in an elegant new jacket he bought for his daughter’s upcoming wedding, and wanted to be shot in it. I agreed. I told him he looked happy as a bridegroom in a picture, but that I preferred him as he’d been before. He said he understands. Few weeks ago he told me that his family asked why he was being photographed, and he couldn’t answer. I asked if he knows The Chairs by Ionesco. Afterwards, I offered to photograph his wife, but then she had her second stroke. Recently, Barbiro said that if we win a foreign prize, he’ll attend the ceremony. He’ll buy a jacket and hat from an ultra-religious store, and wear them at the ceremony, as in the photos. Then he added sadly that all of it might not happen, because of his wife.