Was the fault of my cousin, who knew what he was doing, as always, when mounted to a kid six years on the tank of his Derbi "World Champion". Shortly after that I saw in a movie that had nothing to do with the topic at hand, two types dressed in black mounted on motorcycles who stopped paths to refuel at a gas station and decided I had to be like them: the rest came alone. I became interested in motorcycles and I remember with fourteen years and more pimples than a Clearasil ad, obsessed with the Road Ducati, Triumph, the Norton, the BMW and Yamaha 250 (this marvel of mechanical strength and economy) . Then came
the toupees, leather and macarreo youth, and with the first peel, the first machines. My father, a man of the side line and Parker pen in his shirt pocket, I wore when I saw the demons out of the house with a denim vest, a big pompadour, matted hair on the neck and cowboy boots that nobody remembers where the hell had gone. My mother, poor, believed that over time would fever and I ended up giving me models of motorcycles at birthdays. At this time I had another initiation with jet travel impossible, old, ramshackle, a backpack full of soups on (it would have killed for a wallet), a huge helmet rather more enthusiasm than money. Today I have a few more years and a motorcycle after the '77! I share in community of property with the bank. Parallel
did the love of photography and ended up being "that the photos" until last June did the finger respectfully to an employer intending to tie to a sector in crisis with a permanent contract and got, one of my usual bouts of lucidity, to study photo of Manchester School of Art.
This is the first commissioned work I do and I would like to thank Jose and Jorge to call me. I apologize for the quality of photos of interiors: Release camera and I'm still not comfortable with digital. The page features photos hanging discourage excessive weight, so if you are interested in maintaining better picture quality, or even on paper, please contact me through my email address, pacomaese@yahoo.es
Some of the portraits I've known for years, others I was lucky to meet you in this meeting, which I hope will be the first in a long series, and so although the generational conspicuous by its absence, we can keep alive this wonderful invention called rock and roll. Gusts
everyone.
. rockers
. On the road
. viewpoint
. Glen
thistles. Reflections
. finale
I dedicate these photos to Juan Carlos López Flores, recently died in motorcycle accident. Rocker pro, fellow traveler,-addled friend. A unique type was a lesson in life, always with a laugh in the room and that he died doing one of the things I was passionate about in life: riding a bike. I miss you, dammit.
