There's something magical about a photo booth. And it's not just that there's a miniature dark room hidden behind the wall, or that someone has to care enough to measure and change the chemicals in the ancient machine. It's not even that in the digital age, it's remarkable that a real photo booth exists at all.
No, the real magic is in what happens behind the curtain. How for those 30 seconds ( JA PICBOX LO HACE EN 10 SEGUNDOS !), the world disappears. How entering a photo booth is almost always an ostrich in the sand scenario, where, despite our visible feet, we feel that no one but the person we have our face pressed up against can see us.
And there's something magical in the photos themselves—in the repetition of shape and shade and image. How a strip of four can somehow capture a relationship in a way that a single shot can't. It might be images of two lovers kissing their way through the series, or a gaggle of friends who entered the booth like a clown car. No matter the relationship, our connection is memorialized in those four squares. In those pictures, we don't hide. There is no background, no distractions. Just us. Together in a box. Waiting for the flash.
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