Fotos De | Alejandra Fosalba Desnuda

Goosebumps. But still, Alejandra rationalized it. Old printer. Faulty ink.

For five years, she shot the city’s most exciting designers: the avant-garde, the indigenous-weavers-turned-couturiers, the punks who made dresses from recycled tire rubber. Her gallery was a shrine to fabric and shadow.

The gallery’s sign now reads: Fotos de Alejandra — Fashion & Style Gallery — Plus one ghost. fotos de alejandra fosalba desnuda

Alejandra assumed it was a trick of the light. She replaced the photo.

Her name, she said, was Elena . She had been a seamstress in the 1950s, sewing elaborate gowns for actresses who never credited her. She died young, unnoticed. But her love for fabric and silhouette never faded. She had been haunting the mirrors of Mexico City’s garment district for decades, searching for someone who would see her. Goosebumps

For the rest of the night, she photographed Elena. The ghost could not touch anything solid, but she could wear any outfit from the gallery’s racks. Alejandra shot her in a rebozo that belonged to her great-grandmother. In a zoot suit from the 1940s. In a dress made of paper flowers.

The resulting images were impossible. Elena’s face was sharp, but her edges dissolved into grain, like old film stock. Her eyes reflected things that weren’t in the room. Faulty ink

“Who are you?” Alejandra whispered.