SALVA-VIDAS
A portrait of those who appeared when I needed saving
(On Going, Personal Project)
A few weeks after being diagnosed with breast cancer, I left New York and traveled to the coast of Peru. I was one of the lucky ones—it had been caught early. There, under the roof and care of Rena and Marie—two women who have spent their lives healing others, and whom I am lucky to call my mothers-in-law—I slowly began finding my way back to myself.
Each day I walked to the Pacific Ocean. The sea became medicine. The beach became a place of recovery. And along the shoreline, people began appearing: fishermen, nurses, lifeguards, caretakers, neighbors, guardians. Most knew nothing about me. Yet each arrived exactly when needed.
When facing illness, we often search for cures, answers, and certainty. What I found instead were people.
Now, with treatment almost behind me, I can see that Leoncitos was only the beginning. More angels have appeared since then, but these photographs honor the first ones. As my strength returns, so does my desire to continue this work. A second chapter will follow, dedicated to the angels who appeared later—in New York, Madrid, and beyond—and who helped light the path forward when I needed it most.
DEDICATION First and foremost, to my wife Claudia, and to our extraordinary twins, Lea and Nicolás. Without them—their love, their patience, their laughter, and their unwavering faith—these months, and life itself, would not have been the same. They are my home, my purpose, and my greatest source of strength. To Ali, my aunt—though more like a big sister—who spoke with me every day during those crucial weeks and helped me find the light that led me to Leoncitos. And to all those who appeared, in Peru, New York, Madrid, and beyond, exactly when they were needed. PERU... To Rena and Marie, who welcomed me into their world when I needed shelter most. For more than thirty-five years they have dedicated their lives to healing others. During those first uncertain days, when fear was louder than reason, they healed me too. Through their care, wisdom, generosity, and love, Leoncitos became far more than a destination—it became a place of recovery, reflection, and hope. MADRID... To Ana, Maraya, and Sole. To Brintin, Monikon, Gadea, Tere, and Alex. To Pedro, Jimba, Lolita, Ani, and Mamá. To Coté y Laura de C. To Yolanda, my chosen godmother—a guiding light, a steadfast friend, and family by choice. To Enrique M., Niti, and Enrique G. To Boris. To my aunts Titi, Pilón, Chele, Vero, Marta, Lucía T. & Sole M. To my cousins, who are more like siblings: Juan, Cas, Agus, Clara, Tato, Lule, Almu y Tomy. To Lucía F., Maria G, Lara Viada, and Rosario. NEW YORK AND BEYOND... To Juanita. To my american godmothers, Dasha & Ellen L. To Josie, Franky, and Elena. To Willy, Ann, Vicky, and Gabby. To Jim and Julie. To Mimi, Johnny, and Tatiana. To Dr. Robson, his extraordinary team of nurses, and all the volunteers at MSK. To Dr. Lisa Baron, Nataly, Dr. Paul Baron, and Dr. Angela Ramdhanny. And to all my dear New York friends who took my hand, in one way or another, throughout these months, with so much love... Javi A., Joan, and Luis Carlos. To Luis M., Caty, Palo, Maria C. and Lida. Prima, Maria L. y Laurita V. Gae, Pablo, Fefo, Laura, and Philippe. Tamy and Felipe. To Liz, Leslie, Joanne, Monica, Michelle, Adrian, and Aline. To Carol and Ericka. Anita B., Ishtar and Steph. Maryam, Amaya, Galit, Crismo, Amy, Yas, Michelle, Pascale, Marti, Javi R, Carlos, and Andrew. To Cat, Neil, Mark, Alan, Nishiel and Jesse. AND OF COURSE, ALL MY ANGELS OF LEONCITOS, PERU: To Flor, strong and luminous, whose hair carries the colors of the rocks of Leoncitos: mahogany, black, and white. To Lindsey, the nurse who arrived each day with IV bags and gentle conversation, sometimes before sunrise. To Víctor, the fisherman who has spent decades sleeping on a giant turtle-shaped rock, climbing the mountain each evening and descending at dawn with the night's catch. To Miguel, the lifeguard from the neighboring beach and member of Peru’s elite Delfines police unit. The word Salvavidas across his shirt caught my attention before I knew his name. To Christian, guardian of the beach, who has watched these shores since childhood. To Héctor and Georges, who spend their days collecting plastic from the sea and sand, quietly caring for a place that has cared for so many.
