Campaign For Dominican Republic
The rust-colored rock faces of the limestone cliffs hold the day’s heat long after the sun begins to retreat. Standing on the jagged edge, peering down into the absurdly clear turquoise water below, the salt wind kicks up and fills my lungs. This is the raw rhythm of the Dominican Republic, a place where the earth seems entirely unbothered by the ticking of the clock. We were here on a commercial assignment for Induveca, tasked with creating imagery that would invite the world back, to promote the country as an undeniable tourist destination.
But when you share Caribbean blood, when your own heritage is a blend of Cuban and Colombian roots, you can't just shoot an island like a transient visitor. You shoot it like a neighbor. Growing up, my grandfather always emphasized the importance of observing the light—how it tells the profound truth about a place before the people even speak. The daylight here in the DR has a remarkably different weight than the slick, neon-tinged brightness of my home base in Miami. It’s denser, older, wrapped in a deep, humid green that feels intensely alive.
We spent days traversing the island's diverse topography, chasing that heavy light. Up on the rugged cliffs, where the textures of the stone look like they've been violently painted with rust and ash, the sheer scale of the landscape humbles you. Watching a beautiful, quiet moment unfold as a shirtless man stands on those bright rocky outcroppings, shielding his face beneath the relentless midday sun, I was struck by the intense isolation and absolute freedom of the coast. The deep marine water below glowed like crushed gems, vibrating with an energy that no studio setup could ever replicate.
Yet, the true magnetism of this island isn't found just in its dramatic geology; it is fiercely anchored by its people. Walking the beaches and the backroads, the cultural fabric of the place presents itself in vivid, unapologetic details. I photographed a young man facing the horizon, the back of his head showcasing incredibly intricate braids bound with bright, colorful ties—a small but profound splash of personal expression against the sweeping, blurred landscape. Further down the coast, a local with a sun-bleached straw hat and cascading salt-cured dreadlocks flashed a wide, genuine smile and dual shaka signs. That relaxed, radiant energy is the actual heartbeat of this tourist destination. It’s the feeling of absolute welcome.
This was the exact energy we needed to anchor the campaign, and working with Carlos Delamota brought it all to the forefront. Carlos possesses a natural gravity—a warmth that makes the camera immediately trust him. Shooting his portrait out on the out-of-focus sandy beach, the sun was incredibly harsh, but it only served to highlight the genuine texture of the moment. The sharp details of his beard, the crinkling of his eyes as he smiled warmly into the lens; it wasn't a pose. It was simply a man entirely at peace in his own environment, embodying the very soul of what we were trying to communicate for Induveca.
When the coastal heat reached its peak, we retreated inland, seeking the sanctuary of the island's lush, forested ponds. There is a specific kind of magic in casting off the salt and diving into fresh, freezing water shaded by a dense green canopy. I got in the water myself, swimming alongside as my subjects moved effortlessly through the dappled sunlight. Capturing the ripples breaking the water's glassy surface as a person swam through the dark greens and blazing white reflections felt like photographing a secret world. It is violently quiet in these natural pools, insulated from the roaring winds of the coast, a place where the chaos of the outside world completely dissolves.
The days here don't really end; they just soften. As the golden hour sets in, the flat blue sky gives way to an unbelievable canvas of wispy clouds drifting through warm, bruised purples and fading orange light. We found ourselves back on the sand at dusk, a massive bonfire already roaring and throwing amber sparks up into the twilight. Silhouetted surfers stood quietly holding their boards, deeply still, just watching the last of the light reflect off the heavy surf. There were no more shot lists, no more commercial benchmarks to hit. Just the crackle of burning wood, the smell of the sea, and the overwhelming gratitude of being allowed to witness it.
The island pulls you in, and refuses to let you leave exactly as you came.