ÁNIMA

The concept of animism posits that objects possess their own *Ajayu* (soul). With this concept in mind, I began to interact with my personal archive; in this way, each object tells my story and my path toward liberation.

When I was a child, my father’s Quechua family taught me about animism; I felt that everything was connected to Pachamama (Mother Earth). My mother’s family, on the other hand—who wanted nothing to do with the Indigenous world—were Catholic. She taught me to pray to my guardian angel at night. And now, as an adult, I believe in angels—though I’m not sure if it’s because I truly believe, or perhaps because my grandmother did such a great job of evangelizing.

I always felt torn, belonging to both—a mestiza inhabiting two worlds.

Much like many other Bolivian women my age, I imagine.

The most interesting thing is that, in both worlds, I felt alone; because, from a young age, I never identified with the girl who wears a dress and whose destiny was already mapped out—to become a wife and mother.

The concept of animism—the oldest form of spirituality in the world—fascinates me. It posits that objects possess their own Ajayu (soul). I began to relate to my own personal archive—and the photographs I took for this series—in this way. Each one tells the story of my life and my journey toward breaking free from the stereotypes and expectations imposed by my two families.

© Wara Vargas Lara - In the photo are my parents on their wedding day—my father’s Quechua family and my mother’s Catholic family.
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In the photo are my parents on their wedding day—my father’s Quechua family and my mother’s Catholic family.

© Wara Vargas Lara - Image from the ÁNIMA photography project
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At age 21, I had an ultrasound of my ovaries that showed polycystic ovaries—proof that I had more male hormones than female hormones.

© Wara Vargas Lara - Image from the ÁNIMA photography project
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My mother’s dreams—she took part in a project for which I explained that I would photograph how we appear to one another in our dreams. For me, it was a way of letting go of the past, of freeing myself with love.

© Wara Vargas Lara - Image from the ÁNIMA photography project
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For many years, I photographed the angels that my grandmother used to have me pray to; this is a double exposure in which the angel is looking at itself—and I am looking at them.

© Wara Vargas Lara - Image from the ÁNIMA photography project
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The wiphala—the flag that my Quechua father always respected—bears an image print symbolizing the pain felt by grandmothers as they see their children losing their identity.

© Wara Vargas Lara - My grandmother Valentina, with my handprint
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My grandmother Valentina, with my handprint

© Wara Vargas Lara - Image from the ÁNIMA photography project
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Sergio Gutierrez, Diablada Ferroviaria, Bolivia. This is one of the oldest dance troupes in the Bolivian carnival, representing a dance that originated with the arrival of the Spanish and the construction of churches, which featured imagery of angels battling demons—a depiction of the struggle between good and evil, alongside the figure of the well-behaved indigenous person.

© Wara Vargas Lara - Image from the ÁNIMA photography project
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I found this photo discarded at the entrance of a church; I’m not sure if it was left there because the person in it passed away, or simply because someone wanted to leave the memory of them behind. I kept it because it resembles my own face—it really caught my attention—and I altered it by adding Andean icons.

© Wara Vargas Lara - Image from the ÁNIMA photography project
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My mother's body, featuring a photograph of me as a child. This is the only photo in my archive that I feel truly represents me; that is why I used it to intervene in all the photographs from my childhood.

© Wara Vargas Lara - Me, at the worst moment of my life, walking in wearing a little white dress on the of spring—that’s not me!
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Me, at the worst moment of my life, walking in wearing a little white dress on the of spring—that’s not me!

© Wara Vargas Lara - Image from the ÁNIMA photography project
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I had heart surgery when I was 6 years old, and this X-ray shows how my sternum has been joined together with wires; to me, it symbolizes how the two parts of my life—as someone of mixed-race woman—have come together to make me who I am today.

© Wara Vargas Lara - Image from the ÁNIMA photography project
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I am Wara (star in native language), the daughter of my Quechua father and my mestiza mother. And I am free to construct my own identity.

ÁNIMA by Wara Vargas Lara

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