Author: KCF

by Kevin Carrel Footer In La Boca, the river has shed its customary brown livery and turned gray. You would think that a river would remain one color, not change like a chameleon, but you would be wrong. The Rio de la Plata is a shape-shifter, writhing and cavorting before your eyes. On land, the…

by Kevin Carrel Footer He ran his fingers across the wooden table because he wanted to feel something real again, something that connected him to the organic world. His fingertips feared splinters — admittedly, that was part of the thrill — but they found only worn smoothness as they traced the table’s edge. Wood was…

When a stranger opens their arms to us in a tango embrace, it is an invitation. When we bare our chest to receive our partner, it is trust in its purest form. When our arms wrap around each other in romantic or fraternal love, it is a homecoming, a possibility.

After the first tango ended, we made the small-talk that is the unguent that holds the milonga community together. “Do you come here often?” “How beautiful the orchestra is playing tonight.” “I love the way you dance.” My words would have sounded ridiculous to me had I heard them – but I did not: I…

Carnival is back and the party is on the street. I lug my cameras and even a light stand out into the heat of the night. I would like to travel lighter but I don’t know where the photos will spring from. All I know is that I will end the night covered in sweat…

I try my best to embrace the chaotic, contradictory, random abundance and confusion around me (and inside me) and bring it all into balance. Balance for me means not getting overly attached to any one outcome, laughing at myself regularly and learning to flow. It doesn’t come easily – if ever – and so I…

Dancers burning the candle at both ends, La Catedral, 2018. Of late, I have been going to dance tango at the Marabú. It is a strange choice for me, that I can’t quite explain. I usually gravitate to venues with the relaxed good vibes of a community center rather than the places where the fancy…

The wet heat of summer had been whisked away by a storm that blew in off the river. Hot, humid air had been routed by a cold front. In the darkness of the taxi, I fumbled for the rocker switch to roll up my window. The driver, I noticed, did the same. The breeze generated…