The Waiting Room by Jordi Oliver
THEY ARE THERE BUT THERE IS NO ONE
The end as a beginning. Goodbye as a prelude to a suspended welcome. The longing covered with a lame and blind hope. And all this suppurating rain of mud, punctual and impatient that never ceases in its uncertainty. A vital experience a thousand times written and not for that reason less lucid, less devastating. The exile, the search for refuge, the past as hell and the present as purgatory, the future as insolent suspension points. The wound that the refugees have opened in Europe is not new, it is not unknown, it is old and it has accompanied us since the dawn of civilisation. We were all, at some point, refugees.
Poets, writers, journalists were left without roots and kept only their words to pave the way. They gave that feeling a verb. Jordi Oliver gives it images. Photographs that focus on the ever-present problem in the here and now, which invite reflection, but also action. They show and remove, accompany and push, respect and break. The photographer delves into reality with an infinite understanding, but at the same time with the aim of awakening consciences, of achieving reactions.
And at this crossroads between documenting the present and fighting for a different future, is where dialogue with poetry is established. The words of those who were there as a beacon to reach the destination. And the images as a living document, as a passport to knowledge, as a revulsion against the habit of looking the other way. Beyond the portrait, there is the experience and beyond it, our history.
Marga durá, Journalist