ABOUT MY JAZZ PHOTOGRAPHY Growing up in Argentina, the images that perfectly represented the U.S. to me where an ice-cold martini, the blues and jazz. I could envision an old man sitting on a bayou pier picking a steel guitar and John Coltrane blowing his horn to a crowded, smoke-filled room. I imagined everyone in pork-pie hats or long satin dresses sipping from tall martinis that left wet rings on the bar. That, to me, was what was exclusively and elegantly America. When I came to New York twenty seven years ago and began going to jazz shows, I realized that although the music itself had change dramatically over fifty years, there were still sentient moments when a musician glances out at the audience after a heart-wrenching solo or he tenderly pulls his bass close to him like a child. Moments like those that Roy DeCarava captured with a piercing immediacy, stealing a glimpse of John Coltrane boyishly burying his head in the enormous shoulders of Ben Webster. I waited anxiously through each show for those moments when the thrill of the music transported the musicians and their glory could be read on their faces or in the way they touched their instruments. I began photographing these moments when the musicians slipped out of time and into that resplendent realm that runs eternal through jazz. I became intrigued with the perilous craft of capturing that moment so that, later, when someone sees the photograph without the music they have a thick description of all that was contained in that sublime second. Because most jazz clubs are almost impenetrably dark, most photographers will instinctively use a flash on the camera. One night observation made me realize quickly, though, that the sharp flash of light penetrating the stillness of the moment jolted the musicians right out of it. To ensure that I would not disturb the rarity of the musicians feeling or upset the band’s fragile balance, I left my flash at home. I learn to photograph them at those moments when they slipped into delight without disrupting their euphoria. I learned to wait, compose the frame, inhale deeply and shoot.