To take a photograph means to recognize, simultaneously and within a fraction of a second‚ both the fact itself and the rigorous organization of visually perceived forms that give it meaning.
It is putting one‚ head, one‚ eye, and one‚ heart on the same axis.
Henri Cartier-Bresson

I never thought I would enjoy sharing a coffee with Henri Cartier-Bresson, perhaps because until now I hadn’t had the chance to closely examine some of his work. That was precisely the feeling I had after leaving the exhibition organised by the Mapfre Foundation in commemoration of the 20th anniversary of his death.
We all know that Henri Cartier-Bresson was one of the most important photographers in the history of 20th-century photography, yes, but not just because he was one of the founders of the Magnum Agency (along with Robert Capa, David Seymour “Chim”, George Rodger, Bill Vandivert, Maria Eisner, and Rita Vandivert), but also because he was a very prolific photographer. His early photographs were influenced by surrealism, and he became one of the great photojournalists of his time. Later, in the final stage of his life, he also stood out for the intimate style of the portraits he took of many artists and writers he encountered.
I believe that in art, to achieve a very fine and delicate line, one must struggle a lot and learn to make mistakes frequently, in order to try various techniques before finding “that photograph” that makes a seasoned and demanding public fall in love with your art at first sight. When I look at Henri Cartier-Bresson’s photographs throughout his life, I realise that the photographs from his later years are perhaps the most accomplished, the deepest, and the ones that capture my attention, love, and admiration the most. Personally, I love his photography for its composition, but also for the realistic vision of photojournalism, the one that transports us to the most authentic immediacy of the moment.

I am drawn to photographs such as the ones of Mexican prostitutes’ gazes through windows, the large crowd at Gandhi’s funeral, or the children playing in the streets of Valencia; these are some of the images that caught my attention most in the exhibition showcasing his time as a photojournalist. But of all the photos I saw in this exhibition, perhaps the last room, dedicated to photographing his friends, impressed me the most. In this room, there are portraits of figures as revered as he was, as a photographer, and I am captivated by the photo of Arthur Miller, but I am also moved by the lively gaze of Simone de Beauvoir, the intellectual pose of Jean-Paul Sartre, and even the youthful Truman Capote. And then I think: what a pity I never had the chance to meet a photographer like him in person, how many authentic and moving stories he could have told me, and how we can now imagine them through his photographs.