Project 192
Project 192 merges life, death, pity and accusation. 192 photographs and 192 names: those of the Madrid commuter trains passengers bombings on March 11th, 2004. A very recent past, on which every day a veil descends, the most dangerous veil, that of oblivion, slow and subtle. I will not forget, and I can’t.
The world of commuter trains is a thriving microcosm; full of life, on the move, noisy. Thousands of persons, different from each other yet similar in their feelings, in their motivations.
And then the visible life made of gestures and movements is overcast by the invisible one, that made of silences and thoughts.
And a photograph is born.
Trains have it all. Our life is there, a sum of many things, those we want, those we don’t want, things we seek, things we don’t find, things we do because we have to; our work, our encounters, the occasional passing by.
There is us. Alive and real. Every day, all day. Each day same to any other, day after day.
March 11th, 2004 was different. Death entered those trains, blind, violent, evil; carried by a blind, violent and evil hate. 192 persons are not anymore, and beside these lives lost in an evil fatality there are the ravished lives of their families and friends. A few days of chaos, feverish searches, of heartbreaking mourning cynically portrayed all over the world by the medias, and the many acts of heroism and solidarity, all the more sincere and true as they were spontaneous and driven by a sense of wounded and offended humanity; and then slowly life took its pace again, with its eternal and unavoidable laws.
We go on, another ride on the roundabout.
Our lenses capture gesture, movements, voices and noises, and then thoughts and silences. Behind its continuous flowing life hides its double: fear, terror, and death.

192 Black and White photographs. One photograph for each victim, and each name written “inside” the picture, on a piece of paper, on a hand, on a stai- step, on a chair, somewhere else. The photograph will decide each time, the name itself will ask for it, will inspire the capture. Sometimes with the help of some unknown stand-byer which will act as the prosecutor’s witness and pitiful mourner.
Because we share and we bear other’s grief and pain: it is our path.

Ciro Prota