When I first thought of inviting Lou Peralta to collaborate on one of these interviews, I knew that the topic of portraiture was going to be a big part of it. I did not expect how ever-expanding her answers were and how much time, effort, and thought go into every aspect of her work. I should have known, though, being that she has experienced such a vast family legacy working in the photographic medium. Being steeped in the arts from an early age certainly has its advantages, and Lou has been extremely busy with not only making portraits but investigating them. It's all a part of her overall creative process and a driving force behind making the transition from being a photographer in the commercial sense to being one completely engulfed in the art world. Doing this interview reminds me all over again why questions are so crucial to what we do in the visual arts. Seeking truths about our work is what propels us forward and allows us entry into a realm to create.

Once again, I'm absolutely thrilled to have conducted this interview with someone who will help others to think about their work and process, and more than anything, inspire them to look beyond the borders of what is possible. The more I dive into Lou Peralta's work, the more I discover how prolific she is and how she has taken the portraiture idea to new levels of creativity. Lou's thoughts are yet another highlight to the overall project going on here, and I hope that everyone walks away with something of value in her words and photographs. I know I did.

Disassemble #54, 2019. Disassemble Series III.

Bio -

After more than 30 years as a photographer, in 2017 Lou Peralta decided to devote herself full time to contemporary photography.

Lou earned an undergraduate degree in graphic design with a major in editorial design from the Universidad Iberoamericana in Mexico City; honorable award for thesis. She completed a specialty course in contemporary photography at the Node Center for Curatorial Studies, after signing up for a professionalization program for up-and-coming artists previously.

Fujifilm Mexico named her brand ambassador; she is one of a worldwide group of “X-Photographers.”

Artist Statement -

As the fourth generation of a family of portrait photographers, her work seeks to push boundaries and find new meanings in portraiture, by capturing an energy and internal consciousness influenced by the diverse cultural heritages from across Mexico. She also embeds into portraits physical elements that have been used in Mexico since pre-Hispanic times, together with objects from Mexican daily life.

Interview -

Michael Kirchoff: Every photographic artist experiences that spark that drives them into the direction of image-making. How did you get your start, and what were your early influences? I believe family plays a major role here, am I correct?

Lou Peralta: That spark came very early in my life. I shot my first magazine cover at 16, a portrait of a performer I greatly admired. I got that opportunity because there was no one else available among the four generations of photographers in my family!

Before that, when I was just a girl, I would spend Saturdays helping my dad with his bridal portraits in his “outdoor garden-studio.” I would arrange the brides’ dresses, and with a sun reflector I’d cast the light onto their faces.

After a time, because I’d shown a talent for painting, they sent me to the Veronica Cass Academy of Photo Arts in Florida to learn new retouching techniques and join the family business, retouching the photos my dad took.

At 18, I decided I wanted to be a singer (stage performance also ran in my family). Because I needed photos to promote myself, I first asked my grandfather, known as “The photographer to the Stars” because he’d portrayed all the personalities of what was called the Golden Age of Mexican film. Back then he had an enormous studio in the heart of Mexico City, just across from the country’s largest radio station.

I walked into that huge space, full of cameras, lights, painted backdrops, props, etc. I remember my grandfather shot me in various poses. He used 5x7” negative plates and his Kodak Century camera with a studio stand and 600mm Dalmayer lens. What was amazing was that he never used a light meter—he had an extraordinary skill for modeling light by using tungsten lamps with Fresnel glass. The tungsten lights gave off a huge amount of heat, and I had to hold the same pose for several minutes. But despite these inconveniences, my grandfather made me feel like the most glamorous star in Hollywood!

To have more variety, I also asked my dad for photos as well. He was a “Kodak mentor,” so they sent him all the innovations for him to test. Back then he’d been given Kodak’s first digital camera. Of course, the files were still very small (2MB), so he used his medium-format Mamiya camera and took color negatives of me. His studio had just been designed to use the light from a window set at a 45-degree angle, in what was called “northern light” (which didn’t cast a shadow), mixing the light with electronic flashes and a garden background—something that was new at the time. I should mention that my father is famous for having taken seven portraits of seven Mexican presidents, along with many other notables of his time.

Our family living room was set up as a little museum of the cameras my family had used—from my great grandfather on down—and a collection of albums, daguerreotypes and other memorabilia from our family’s photographic history.

My mother, Yolanda Peralta, was the daughter of a successful Mexican entrepreneur. She was responsible for creating the family business, which imported photographic equipment and the first lamination systems in Mexico.

I wasn’t under any pressure to be a photographer. Among other reasons, two of my siblings had already gone abroad to study photography and perfect their profession in a school in Chicago and one at the Brooks Institute of Photography in Santa Barbara, California.

But the spark that finally made me a photographer came right after finishing my undergraduate degree in graphic design, majoring in editorial design. With my mom and my older sister, I started a photography magazine. I handled the design end. Computers hadn’t come along yet, so I did all my work manually, pasting up type galleys. While I laid out the interviews, I also absorbed all of the artists’ experiences. That was when I realized that I would rather be a photographer than to sit at a drafting table all day.

In 1990 I had my first show as a post-modern photographer, and meanwhile, I was photographing fascinating people, and traveling to various corners of Mexico to take pictures to illustrate the articles that appeared in successful magazines of the time.

It was only recently that I reinvented myself, even changing my name. I decided to devote myself to contemporary art photography.

MK: What is it that drives you as a creator?

LP: I have two drivers. First, I want to be a counterweight in this world where there is a perception of emptiness. The Dutch philosopher Rob Riemen says people are eager for stories that can help them find meaning in their lives—where do we come from? Where are we going? What lies ahead? Artists (poets, writers, painters, etc.) are the only ones who can create so there’s no room left for false narratives. In fact, after reading Riemen’s interview with Mexican journalist Adriana Malvido in 2016, I decided to reinvent myself and begin my career as an artist. In particular, I was struck by this quote from that interview: “Artists are the translators of the fundamental mythologies and great narratives of humanity.”

The second is that I wanted to find meaning to the 120 years my family had dedicated to photography, and with this to close a cycle: what are we actually portraying in a person? How has the field of photography evolved over the last 100 years? What happens with energy in a portrait? What happened to the family album, to memory? I am the last of that dynasty, and because of the transition to “post-photography,” portrait studios have almost completely disappeared. The fifth and last generation of photographers are more interested in using photography as a tool for other disciplines.

MK: I am intrigued by your Disassemble body of work. What led you to create this ever-expanding collection? Also, I’m wondering about your intention for it to be broken up into separate parts? Or, given the title, did I just answer my own question?

LP: I had to start from zero to discover/investigate what my family was doing for years with portraits. It was like learning how a radio works: I had to take it apart, deconstruct or “disassemble” it to understand how it worked.

In one of the first phases of this series, I took on the myth that photographers steal their subjects’ souls. I was interested in asking why this premise was so persistent among various human cultures. I came to the conclusion that when people talk about “stealing the soul” they actually mean their energy, which is transmitted to the analog (or today digital) support. But the energy isn’t lost—it’s replenished in each person. No one can steal a soul—the soul is that spark of life, protected and contained in that marvelous “case” we call the body.

In the fifth phase of my project, currently in progress, I’ve focused on what happens with energy. We know that a portrait can represent the image of a person or something that relates to that person. I am fascinated by the question of how energy is captured.

During the first two years of my work on this series, I would shoot one person in various experiments, with varying distances between the subject and the photographer, even deciding whether or not to be actually present when the photo was taken, and asking who the photo really belongs to. Among other things, I became aware that when we take someone’s portrait we’re not just photographing a physical body, but also an emotional body, an energetic body—even a spiritual body!

My theory now is that, when a portrait is taken, fifty percent of the model’s energy and fifty percent of the photographer’s energy is transmitted to the digital or analog support, and with that mix, a new photo is created. So when we print the picture or see it reproduced on a screen, we not only see an image, we can also unconsciously capture that energy. This “conversation” of energy with a photo takes place on a plane we still can’t explain scientifically. But there have been other experiments about this. I’m thinking, for example, about Kirlian techniques and Mexican photographer Armando Salas Portugal’s “photography of the mind.”

The fifth phase of my series is not intended as evidence of a scientific experiment. My interest is to make note of this energy transfer, to use this artistic “translation” as an invitation to the viewer to reflect on this phenomenon. The works are based on portraits that are transferred to fabric using sublimation printing. Then, having “disassembled” them, I weave together the fragments to reconstruct a portrait. And that is where the subject’s energy is. It doesn’t matter how many generations are involved in its reproduction: the image still contains that original energy.

I recently read an article in the online art forum Hyperallergic, which announced that a Japanese company was now selling hyper-realistic 3D-printed face masks. I began to think not just about the social repercussions, but also that this might be a good example of what I want to transmit. Imagine somebody buying one of these masks. The true energy of that person will be captured in the photograph.

MK: I notice that Disassemble began its journey in black in white, just as your own career as a commercial photographer appears to have. Why the change, and how did the transition into color affect the meaning of the collection as a whole?

LP: My series began in black and white, but when I realized that colors are energy with different vibratory frequencies, I switched to color photography. I found that we actually portray frequencies and forms—which are expressions of nature—and that a graphic way to reflect them would be through color.

In my first exhibit I used black and white because I was fascinated by the different shades of grey and the “new” films being produced at that time, like T-Max. Then in the 1990s we were squarely in the post-modern age. I remember that people would say that color photography “distracted from the essence” and was perceived as a way to enrich an image without contributing artistic value. It wasn’t widely accepted in art circles—color was almost synonymous with commercial. I already got the feeling that I was considered one of the “others”—who worked in commercial or traditional photography—so it was difficult to gain acceptance in the circles of “art” photography.

MK: Do you find it better to construct your artwork in a mindful way or work more intuitively?

LP: My work is primarily intuitive. Of course, I do a lot of research and, to some extent, planning as well. But I make a conscious effort to develop my intuition and act spontaneously with the work. That is, when I’m intervening a work, I’m aware of my five senses and I situate myself in the present. Then I begin a dialogue with each piece: “What do you need? What do you want me to add?” This is part of my thesis that the energy of the subject merges with my own energy. I also believe that when that work is reproduced and exhibited, people continue to converse with it, and the cycle can become endless.

That raised another question: when we see the portrait of a loved one, do we resonate with their energy, which was impregnated on the support, or is it their face that evokes? So I continue to develop my work based on the questions that arise along the way.

My use of elements from Mexican culture originally was prompted by this other question: if when taking a portrait we could capture the consciousness of a person, can we see the consciousness of a country in a group of images of the same cultural group? In my “Disassembled” series, I’d like people to perceive something of the energy of “Mexicanness” and “Contemporary Mexicans.” I believe that when we make a portrait, we also perceive the story of each person, that information that everyone carries in their DNA. The culture of my pre-Columbian ancestors is vast and rich, and through my work I try to share what most impresses me about it. For example, I have a piece inspired in the ancient chimalli or Aztec shields—made with the same techniques and materials that were used more than 500 years ago!

In general, the constant in my work is this travel through time. I often go back over the past to give meaning to my series.

MK: I wanted to mention another project of yours, Reproducing a gaze. It is a fascinating look at the subtleties that exist in portraiture. The idea of attempting to replicate the gaze your mother has in a photograph made by your father, in order to understand what she may have been thinking, is quite an undertaking. I’m wondering if this is still an ongoing project, as it is a participatory one, and what may you have discovered thus far?

LP: It took me three years to complete that series, and I only just posted it on my webpage. Yes, that was my intention: to emphasize the nuances and subtleties we encounter when making a portrait. When I did portraits for magazines or provide clients, I would take a lot of images. I might use two rolls of 36 shots each—and this was before the digital age, which allows me to take many more. When I would set up a portrait and click the shutter continously, I felt tremendous excitement. I found it fascinating to see how a face would change almost microscopically and transform from one microsecond to another. Within that series of clicks, there was one moment where the face would light up and the gaze would take on a particular glow. Then I knew I had the shot, and the session was over. I had captured the person’s energy, or better said, the energy of the work itself.

For this series I wanted to use the photograph of my mother, who had recently passed away. Thinking about it now, it was an act of appropriation, because I didn’t want her to leave me. Apparently, my father took this photo during the happiest time of my mother’s life. But apart from that, her gaze seems to me enigmatic, inscrutable. It’s one of those portraits you can stare at for minutes, days, and years, and its meaning changes with time. I can’t know what my mother was thinking right then, but I like to assume that the image holds her energy, and that she will always be present here, with me.

I would love for this series to be shown in a museum so I could hear viewers’ feedback through the social media. And invite them do the same experiment with a picture of a loved one or through a mirror. You learn a lot about the other person and about yourself when you try to reproduce a gaze. I’d also like to invite people to think about the fact that, if we look at each other more closely and concentrate on the subtleties of our loved one’s face, we communicate better.

MK: Was there a specific point in time where you felt that you had found your voice in the art world and became satisfied with the direction of your work? Do you ever truly find yourself in a good place with your work, or are you always searching for more?

LP: Thanks to Foto Relevance gallery in Houston, which welcomed me to its group of artists in 2018 and gave me the chance for a solo show in 2019, I was able to work for a full year on my “Disassembled” series. I was able to experiment and create, and I think that it was there I found my voice.

To answer your second question, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but during my time as an editorial photographer or with my clients I received high praise, some of it very moving, and I’ve never been able to really believe it. I always thought that it wasn’t enough, and that I should try harder or put myself out there more. As an artist, this feeling is more intense. I am seized by insecurity and indecision. When I decide to show a work I feel like I’m being too daring, that I’m about to throw myself off a cliff.

MK: Is there anything about your creative process that you feel people miss or are misinformed about?

LP: Yes, especially in my country. When someone recognizes me as part of this dynasty of photographers, who created a technique and a style, they question me, they tell me that it would have been easier for me to gain recognition with my original name. I tell them that that’s exactly why I changed my name, because I want to know if my work is worthwhile, and whether people are drawn to it independently of the recognition my ancestors earned with their work. I also changed it because you can’t observe, analyze or theorize as part of that family. To observe this phenomenon, I needed to reinvent myself and observe things from the outside, to have a more objective vision. So everything I did would be viewed from the margins of that tradition: I would adopt a new reading, a new perspective. As a visual artist, I chose to take the first letters of my given name—Ana Lourdes Herrera—which I worked under for thirty years, and my mother’s maiden name.

MK: What do you feel is the best way for you to grow as an artist? Are there any fears behind treading new waters?

LP: That’s a very tough question. I once went to the laboratory where they printed my work and I saw a world-renowned Mexican photographer. I told her how much I admired her, and during our conversation my concern about having begun after 50 came up, along with my wish to exhibit my work more broadly some day. I will always remember what she said to me: “Why don’t you just do your work and enjoy it? The rest will come of its own.” My concerns about my age and recognition of my work vanished in an instant.

For me, the best thing is to concentrate on the series I’ve decided to develop and take it one day at a time. I have a whole universe in my studio, and I concentrate on that. Of course, these series require me to enter unknown territory and submerge myself in it. It’s part of the process.

Disassemble #42, 2019. Disassemble Series III.

Disassemble #47, 2019. Disassemble Series III.

Disassemble #48, 2019. Disassemble Series III.

MK: Do you collaborate with like-minded individuals on projects, or do you find it more productive to handle everything yourself? Are there any collaborations in the past that have been particularly beneficial?

LP: I find it more productive to handle everything myself. I have an amazing assistant and other external collaborators, without whom I wouldn’t be able to do what I do, but I’m rather independent—I work on my own.

Of course, there have been exceptions. The photographer Nicolo Sertorio invited me last year to be part of the first phase of his “Visual Conversations” project. It was unimaginably satisfying. He brought together artists that didn’t know each other, and in my case it was a perfect match. From April of last year I started to receive amazing images of the photographer Doug Fogelson. As part of my “conversation” with him I took on the task of exploring new techniques and developing new ideas. In fact, one of the series I’m working on now was born from it. I hope to soon have more opportunities to collaborate with other artists, or even with an interdisciplinary group. It’s something I really look forward to.

MK: Do you see a difference between how you approach your personal work versus the images you created for others when you were photographing commercially? Has there been any inspiration or informing of one towards the other?

LP: I was fortunate to have some clients with well-curated art collections. One of them wanted to give a family photograph to a relative of theirs, so they commissioned me to do it. I arrived at the address I’d been given and was pleasantly surprised to find that the family had a fascinating collection of contemporary photography. I thought, “I hope some day my work will be included in this type of collection.”

The photos I took that day were very well received, and they hired me again. When I went back to house, I saw that one of the 8x10” printed portrait I’d done of them, was placed among their collection! With that I want to say that my intention over my thirty years of commission work was to see this as “personal work.”

I will never be able to show all that work I did for years, but I was left with the satisfaction that it will be treasured as art work in the albums I made for those families.

MK: Was your change from shooting commercially into the fine art realm a gradual transition over time or did you make a clean break of it? Were there any initial successes or failures that you experienced?

LP: In 2016, when I decided to move from one specialty to another, since I wasn’t able to just drop everything and travel for a few years to study abroad, I decided to study online in the Node Center for Curatorial Studies, located in Berlin, although the classes were given in Spanish. Besides that specialization course to learn everything about pursuing a career as an artist, I signed up for another on contemporary photography. The world had changed a lot in those 30 years: from analog to digital, from postmodern to contemporary, from individual photographs to series, and from physical portfolios to web pages. That extraordinary training helped me update the tools I would need to become an artist.

Failures? There were a number of them. One was to start, early on, by trying to make attractive work, rather than focusing on the content. I gradually discarded those ideas and began to stress the concept and the process, regardless of how wild or out of place it seemed. Now I realize that the important thing is not how “successful” a work is—because that’s something no one can control. The essential thing is that it resonate, in its time and with people. But that, too, can’t be predicted. So I just keep working day after day.

Disassemble #49, 2019. Disassemble Series III.

MK: In speaking to future generations of photographers, do you have any words of wisdom to those setting out to make their mark in the photographic world?

LP: Some time ago I signed up for an interesting course given by photographer Sean Kernan in the Santa Fe Workshops. It was entitled something like “for photographers in crisis.” One of Kernan’s suggestions was that, parallel to your work as a photographer you do something completely different.

My dad use to say something similar: it’s important to study photography, but it’s more important to learn about all the rest. I totally agree. I think you need to learn photography to enjoy and benefit from it, but good photographs come from knowing how to observe, from a person’s life experiences and inner world. You photograph only what you’ve already seen inside.

In my case, at some points in my life I was not just a photographer but worked in activities as diverse as calligrapher, singer, graphic designer, office furniture salesmen, waitress at Epcot Center, makeup artist…I also developed various hobbies, like horseback riding and the piano. This is how you learn, and how you can converse and empathize with other people when you’re taking their portrait, and it also gives you a broader perspective.

But the most important thing I want to mention is that, for the past four years I’ve been meditating constantly, and it’s changed my life. I recommend that everyone begin a spiritual practice, whether singing, praying or meditating. The world is crying out for it. To tune in to each other, we need to develop that inner world, because we live in what some thinkers call the “age of anxiety.”

MK: How do you see your work progressing into the future? I notice on your website that there are some new works on the way. Can you give us a couple of hints or idea of when we might get to experience these new images?

LP: It’s hard to predict what the future of contemporary photography will be like. But of course, I’d like to keep on pushing the limits of portrait photography and continue having the chance to exhibit my work.

A few of my series are already well under way. One of them, which has to do with the power of photography, took shape last year. As I observed the dust accumulating on my art bookshelf, I began to reflect on what the metaphor implies about memory and mortality, and decided to try to capture this concept in photographs. I am interested in reflecting on what has happened in 100 years of photography.

And the fifth phase of my “Disassembled” series, although it isn’t finished, will undergo portfolio reviews early this year.

Also, since 2018 I’ve been working on cataloging the 120-year photo archive of the legendary Herrera Studio. One of my wishes regarding this herculean project is to finish it as soon as possible so that I can see my father presenting it to the world.

MK: My sincere thanks to you, Lou, for your time, energy, and wisdom in collaborating with me on this interview. I’m quite certain that others are going to get a lot out of your words, not to mention inspiration from your photographs. I am eager to see where your art takes you.

LP: Thank you so much for the invitation, Michael. It’s an honor and a privilege to share my impressions with you.

You can find more of Lou’s work on her website here.

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