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Final Project

The Sons of Ambato

This project was inspired by the legacy of the “Three Sons of Ambato” and explores how their presence persists within the city in a subtle and symbolic way.

Rather than portraying the figures directly, it focuses on spaces, architecture, and objects that suggest their existence through traces embedded in the urban environment.

A moment that feels like it repeats every year, but is never really the same. Time passes, but the people sitting around the table are what give meaning to it. It’s not just about the birthday, the cake, or the candles. It’s everything happening in between, the looks, the laughter, the small moments that don’t always show in a photo, but are the ones that actually stay.Somehow, these moments feel simple while they are happening, but later they become the ones you remember the most.

Before anyone says anything, there’s a brief moment of silence. The candles are lit, and everything feels paused, as if time slows down just for a second. You can hear chairs moving, someone laughing softly, and glasses touching without intention; everybody is waiting to start singing. It smells like chocolate mixed with the faint scent of the flowers on the table. The light from the candles flickers gently, reflecting on everyone’s faces. It’s not a big moment, nothing dramatic is happening, but it feels important, like everyone is present in the same place, without saying it out loud, just waiting for something to begin.

There’s something different in the way she looks at me. It’s not just love or affection; it feels deeper, like there’s a memory behind it. I lean closer, and for a moment everything else fades: the voices, the movement, the noise around us. It becomes our moment. I start thinking about how many times she has been at a table like this, how many birthdays she has seen come and go. Her hand feels calm and steady, grounded quietly. It makes me realize this isn’t just another picture. It’s one of those moments that doesn’t feel extraordinary now, but will become more meaningful with time.

There’s a small pause between everything that’s happening. I’m still smiling, but it feels quieter now, more internal. I can hear voices around me, but they feel distant, like they belong to another moment. The candles are not waiting for me yet, but I am already thinking about them. I fix my hair without really thinking about it, almost like I’m trying to stay present just a little longer. It’s strange how something so simple can feel so significant without having a clear reason. Maybe it’s because I know this moment is already passing, even while I’m still standing in it. I can only think that time is passing, and I am feeling a year older. 

At some point, everything becomes a little chaotic, but in the best way. Someone says something small, and suddenly everyone is laughing at the same time. There’s no clear reason; it just happens naturally. I look at my dad and my uncles, and it feels familiar, like a kind of comfort that doesn’t need explanation. The laughter fills the space and makes everything feel lighter. It’s one of those moments where nothing important is happening, yet it feels full. Like a memory being created without trying, something that will stay later, even if right now it just feels simple and effortless.

Proyect 3

My project is about exploring emotions through portraits in a very simple but honest way. I was inspired by Richard Avedon and his approach to focusing completely on the person, removing distractions and letting the expression speak for itself. By working in black and white, textures, light, and emotions are emphasized in a stronger and more direct way, allowing the expression to stand out without distractions. Each portrait shows a different emotional state, but all of them are connected through a minimal and direct style.

I learned that a good portrait is not about forcing an expression, but about creating a moment where something real can happen. Small details like the direction of the gaze, whether the eyes are open or closed, or even a slight movement of the face can completely change the feeling of the image. I also understood how important lighting is and how it directly affects the mood and depth of a portrait.

Could you imagine someone who arrives in silence? That is my mom. She is like a pause in the middle of chaos. Her presence does not interrupt a space; it settles into it slowly, almost like a calm rhythm that you only notice after a moment. She moves quietly, observing first and speaking later. There is something steady about her, something deeply grounded. Wherever she goes, she becomes a small center of balance for everyone around her. Her face tells a story that time has written gently. Fine lines rest around her eyes, not sharply but softly, like traces of years of patience, laughter, and long days that seemed to never end. Her brown eyes are thoughtful and calm, often pausing on small details before lifting again. She often rests her face against her hand, her elbow anchored on a table or chair. It is a simple gesture, but it carries something deeper. There is reflection in it, but also quiet fatigue. Not the kind that comes from a single day, but the kind that belongs to someone who has spent years caring for others, turning ordinary days into better ones for the people she loves. In ordinary moments, like sitting at a restaurant table reading a menu, she becomes almost still. Around her, the world continues in soft movement—voices blending. Yet she remains calm inside the noise, studying the small printed lines in front of her as if they were more important than they appear. She approaches choices with patience, never rushing, always considering. But my mother is not only a gentle reflection. There are moments when something lighter appears. A smile begins slowly, almost shy at first, before spreading across her face. When she laughs, the room changes. The seriousness that often surrounds her softens, and warmth takes its place. She will always be the woman I admire the most, the one I love the deepest. Extraordinary in the simplest ways, she reminds me that true strength does not need to be loud. Sometimes it lives in quiet gestures, in patient eyes, in the way someone holds a family together. She is strong, tenacious, and an example. The purest expression of love and devotion. My mom always smells like kindness, like the quiet warmth of home. Her hugs feel like a small bandage that can heal any pain, the kind of comfort that makes everything feel safe again. And maybe that is what makes her so extraordinary. Not grand gestures or words, but the quiet way she exists in the lives of the people she loves. Like a calm presence in the middle of everything. And if love had a shape, I believe it would look a lot like my mom.

Barthes

Excalibur was more than just a party; it was one of the most iconic and tradicional annual events at USFQ. Last Thursday, the campus transformed into a medieval setting where students, professors and administrators came together to share a unique experience. With costumes, music and a magic atmosphere, the celebration brought the community closer and created unforgettable memories. 🪩✨

My project explores the visual identity and emotional atmosphere of Ambato through urban and landscape photography. I focused on creating a consistent black and white aesthetic to highlight texture, contrast, and mood, transforming everyday spaces into more dramatic and cinematic scenes. The most challenging part was achieving the right balance between contrast and detail, especially in the skies and shadows, without losing information in the highlights or dark areas. Through this process, I learned how editing is not only technical but also a creative decision that shapes the story and emotion of an image. I also improved my understanding of composition, tonal range, and visual coherence across a photographic series. If I could improve this project, I would spend more time experimenting with different lighting conditions and perspectives to deepen the narrative and create an even stronger visual connection between the images.

I hope you enjoy all this photos in the same way I did it 🫶🏼

My project explores Ambato as a space of contrast between nature, city, and identity. Through these images, I wanted to show how the mountains, architecture, and urban life coexist and shape a sense of belonging. The most challenging part was finding the right light and perspective to create a visual dialogue between these elements while keeping the series cohesive. From this project, I learned how composition, weather, and editing can transform a simple place into something more emotional and meaningful. If I could improve it, I would spend more time experimenting with different times of day and viewpoints to deepen the narrative and make the connection between the images even stronger.

I hope you enjoy these photos in the same way I did it 🫶🏼

Between Earth and Air Could you imagine a place where everything moves slowly, almost as if time decided to pause for a moment? This is Píllaro, in Tungurahua. A landscape where silence is not empty, but present. The greens stretch endlessly, changing shades as they meet a sky painted in blues. The horizon feels like a quiet line between earth and air. So different from the constant rush of everyday life. Here, the wind rushes gently, and that alone makes it special. It moves through the fields, brushing the flowers and carrying the scent of rain that belongs to the páramo. The air feels cool against your skin. You feel grounded, but at the same time, your thoughts drift freely, just like the sky above the countryside. Nothing demands your attention. Nothing interrupts the moment. The trees stand quietly in patient lines at the edge of the fields. In Píllaro, you do not escape yourself. You meet yourself. And sometimes, that is not easy, but it is necessary. The fields open like a green ocean paused mid-wave. Purple potato flowers appear like small sparks against the calm. The trees remain in a perfect line, steady like guardians protecting the horizon. Nothing feels forced here. Everything exists in balance. And as you stand there, you realize the landscape is not just something you look at. It surrounds you. It holds you. It reminds you how small and alive you are. It is a quiet reminder that peace is not emptiness, but presence. And presence is enough in the middle of everything. Reflection: When I first thought about Píllaro, I saw it simply as a peaceful place. Calm, beautiful, distant from the noise of everyday life. But writing about it changed something. It forced me to slow down and pay attention to what I usually overlook. I began to notice how the wind moves with a quiet intention, how silence fills the space instead of leaving it empty, how the landscape feels alive without demanding recognition. Before, I experienced this place almost automatically. I would walk through the fields, breathe the cold air, and admire the view without truly reflecting on it. Putting it into words made me observe instead of just look. It made me stay longer in each detail, the shifting greens, the smell of rain, the stillness that surrounds everything. Through writing, I understood that what makes this landscape meaningful is not only its beauty, but the space it creates within me. The calm I associate with Píllaro is not just something external. It mirrors something internal. It invites me to confront myself, to remain present, even when that presence feels uncomfortable. Píllaro is not just a landscape; it is my peaceful place. It seems like home sometimes. It is the calm in the chaos. It reminds me to pause, breathe deeply, and trust my own rhythm. Now, the landscape is no longer just a view I clearly remember. It has become an experience I carry with me, one that continues shaping how I see stillness, silence, and even myself.