What's up everyone, welcome back to another episode of Sombra Y Cultura. If this is your first time listening, welcome in.

Today we're talking about Chilean photographer Paz Errázuriz.

I have to admit, before researching her work, I knew her name but didn't fully understand just how important her photographs are, not only in Chilean photography but also in the broader history of documentary photography.

What makes Paz Errázuriz interesting to me is that she spent much of her career photographing people who were often ignored, pushed aside, or simply not represented in mainstream society. She photographed people sleeping on the streets, transgender communities, psychiatric patients, Indigenous communities, and boxers. And she didn't approach these subjects like an outsider quickly passing through. She spent time with people. She built relationships.

The more I researched her, the more I realized that her photographs aren't necessarily about dramatic moments. They're about presence. They're about staying long enough for people to become comfortable enough to simply exist in front of the camera.

And I think that's one of the reasons her work continues to resonate with people around the world.

So, let's spend some time getting to know Paz Errázuriz and her photography journey.

Paz Errázuriz was born in Santiago, Chile, in 1944.

Interestingly, she didn't begin with a formal photography education. In fact, there weren't many opportunities for specialized photography studies in Chile when she was getting started. She studied at the Cambridge Institute of Education in England in 1966 and later graduated from the Pontificia Universidad Católica in Santiago in 1972.

Photography, however, largely became something she taught herself.

I always find self-taught photographers fascinating because they often develop their own way of looking at the world. They aren't necessarily trying to fit into a tradition or follow a specific formula. They experiment. They make mistakes. They discover things through practice.

Errázuriz began photographing during the 1970s, which was an incredibly complicated period in Chilean history. The country was living under the dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet from 1973 to 1990. Political repression, censorship, and fear affected everyday life.

It's impossible to completely separate that historical context from her work.

But what's interesting is that she didn't become known as a traditional photojournalist covering headlines or political events in the conventional sense. Instead, she turned her camera toward people whose lives existed on the margins of society.

In 1981, she co-founded the Asociación de Fotógrafos Independientes, also known as AFI, along with other Chilean photographers. The organization became an important space for photographers during a difficult period in Chile's history, supporting photographic initiatives and helping preserve photography as a form of expression during a time of political restrictions.

Even though she had already been photographing for years, she didn't receive formal photography education until much later. In 1993, she enrolled at the International Center of Photography in New York.

I think that's worth mentioning because it reminds us that learning doesn't have an expiration date. By then, she already had an established body of work, yet she still chose to continue studying and developing her craft.

One thing that stood out to me while looking at Paz Errázuriz's photographs is her patience.

Most of her work is in black and white, and her photographs often feel quiet. They're not crowded with visual information, and they don't seem interested in spectacle.

Instead, there's an intimacy to them.

She often worked in series rather than isolated images. She would spend extended periods with communities and return repeatedly to photograph the same people over time.

That approach matters.

When photographers spend time with people, the photographs often begin to change. The relationship changes. Trust develops. People become less concerned with performing for the camera.

Errázuriz repeatedly photographed individuals who had less access to power or whose stories weren't commonly represented.

But one thing I appreciate about her work is that she doesn't photograph people as symbols or abstract ideas. The people in her photographs remain individuals. They have names, relationships, expressions, and physical presence.

Her photographs feel observational rather than explanatory.

She allows people to exist within the frame without trying to force a specific interpretation.

I also noticed that many of her projects were accompanied by writing from women authors and collaborators. Instead of presenting photographs as completely separate objects, she often created work that allowed photography and literature to speak to one another.

That combination gives many of her projects additional layers without overwhelming the photographs themselves.

One of her earliest series was Dormidos, or Asleep, created between 1979 and 1980.

In this series, she photographed people sleeping on the streets of Santiago.

At first glance, the photographs seem simple. People are sleeping. But considering the historical context of Chile at the time, many scholars and curators have interpreted the series as reflecting a broader sense of paralysis and uncertainty within Chilean society during the dictatorship.

Another major project is probably the series most people associate with her: La manzana de Adán, which translates to Adam's Apple.

Created between 1982 and 1990, the project focused on the lives of transgender individuals working in brothels in Talca and Santiago.

The series eventually became a photo essay accompanied by texts from Chilean writer Claudia Donoso.

What struck me while reading about this project is the amount of time involved. These photographs weren't made during a quick assignment. Access had to be earned. Relationships had to be developed.

Today, the series is often discussed because it documented a community that was rarely represented publicly, especially during a period of political repression and social conservatism in Chile.

Then there's El infarto del alma, or Heart Attack of the Soul, published in 1994 with texts by writer Diamela Eltit.

For this project, Errázuriz photographed patients living in a psychiatric hospital in Putaendo.

Again, trust became essential.

Both the photographer and the writer spent time with the patients before photographing and writing about them. The resulting work feels deeply human because the people being photographed don't appear as anonymous subjects. They appear as individuals living complicated lives.

Other important projects include Kawesqar, which focuses on members of an Indigenous community in southern Chile, Los boxeadores, or The Boxers, and Mujeres, or Women.

I have to mention Los boxeadores specifically because it's fascinating to see how boxing appears in photography across different cultures and generations. Rather than focusing exclusively on action inside the ring, Errázuriz's photographs pay attention to the people who inhabit that world and the environments surrounding them.

Over the years, her work has been exhibited throughout Chile and internationally.

Her retrospective Adentro-Afuera traveled through several important institutions, including Fundación MAPFRE in Madrid, exhibitions in Arles, France, the Museo Amparo in Puebla, Mexico, and later the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes in Chile.

In 2015, alongside artist Lotty Rosenfeld, she represented Chile at the Venice Biennale.

Her photographs are also held in major collections, including the Museum of Modern Art in New York, Tate Modern in London, the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía in Madrid, and the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes in Santiago.

Paz Errázuriz's contribution to photography isn't really about inventing a new camera technique or introducing a new visual style.

I think her contribution has more to do with her way of working.

She consistently returned to communities that many people overlooked.

She demonstrated that documentary photography can move slowly.

She showed that access is often built through relationships rather than obtained through credentials.

Her co-founding of the Asociación de Fotógrafos Independientes also mattered because it helped strengthen photography in Chile during a difficult historical period.

Her work has also been recognized through numerous honors and grants, including a Guggenheim Fellowship, Fulbright support, the Pablo Neruda Order of Merit, the PhotoEspaña Award, and, in 2017, Chile's National Prize for Fine Arts.

Recognition like this matters because it demonstrates that work centered on marginalized communities is not somehow outside the history of photography. It is very much part of it.

I think there are several practical lessons photographers can take from Paz Errázuriz's career.

First, you don't necessarily need to travel around the world looking for extraordinary subjects.

Many of her most important projects happened within her own country and focused on people living lives that others often ignored.

Second, relationships matter.

Looking at her work, it's difficult to imagine these photographs existing without trust.

Third, working slowly has value.

Photography today often moves incredibly fast. We're encouraged to constantly produce, constantly post, and constantly move on to the next thing.

Errázuriz's work reminds us that some projects need time.

And finally, formal education can happen at different stages of life.

She spent years developing her photography before eventually studying at the International Center of Photography in New York.

Learning and making photographs don't have to happen in a perfectly straight line.

MY FINAL THOUGHTS

The more I researched Paz Errázuriz, the more I kept coming back to her patience.

I think that's what stayed with me the most.

Her photographs don't feel rushed. They don't feel like someone dropping into a situation, collecting images, and leaving.

They feel like photographs made after spending time with people.

And maybe that's why so many of her projects still feel relevant.

The people she photographed weren't treated as subjects to be explained. They were treated as people worth knowing.

As photographers, I think that's something worth thinking about.

Thank you so much for spending part of your day with me and joining me for another episode of Sombra Y Cultura.

If you'd like to learn more about Paz Errázuriz, please check out these links to her official website,  some of her work on Hammer Museum, and a page dedicated to her on Fundacion MAPFRE where you can continue exploring her work.

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As always, thank you for listening, and I'll see you in the next episode of Sombra Y Cultura.