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Jordi Bernadó (Lleida, 1966) is an old acquaintance of the readers of ‘Cultura/s’, where he published a selection of his ‘ID Project’ portraits, which last year gave rise to an exhibition at the MNAC. In ‘Last and Lost’, his new series, the photographer and artist faces the ecological and philosophical challenges of the present. The four pieces that make up his latest proposal, which will appear in this supplement once a month, portray scenes of extinction – landscapes veiled by mystery, ambiguity or threat – but also a horizon full of hope. In this first installment, Bernadó travels to the Republic of the Congo to reach one of Africa’s last frontiers, Lake Télé. In January 2024 Galería Senda will host the ‘Last and Lost’ exhibition.

Remote doesn’t just mean far away. Also, in another of its meanings, it refers to that which is not entirely plausible, or that can rarely happen. And in this lake, Lake Télé, both meanings come together, first of all, because of the remoteness – although far from where, it should be clarified – and because of the implausibility that there are still places in the world whose geographical location and inaccessibility make them Apart from those crosses on the maps that exclaim victoriously, I have been there.

In the northwest of the Republic of the Congo, more than 800 kilometers from its capital, Brazzaville, between the Sangha and Oubangui rivers, there is a lake of dark waters in whose surface the world is reflected. Lake Télé. Its circular shape, only broken by small tentacles that emerge from its circumference, as if it were a delicate human cell, stands out for its mysterious perfection: a blue, sparkling and powerful disk in the middle of the impassable and swampy jungle. A mirror of the world.

According to the mythology of the area, this is the place of origin of the Mokèlé-mbèmbé – in Lingala, the official language of the Republic of the Congo, it means “he who stops the flow of the river” – and it is a kind of local Nessie , a brontosaurus that lives in the heart of the jungle. There are traces of him, clues. The testimonies of locals who claim to have seen it, to have fought against it and, therefore, against that blind force that we give to the mystery.

The writer and historian Tony Judt tells us in a splendid article called In love with trains who, as a child, was often tired due to the impositions of the verb “to be” – being –, which involved a multitude of burdens. Being, as he says, always seemed too demanding to him: wherever he was there was something to do, someone to please, a duty to fulfill. On the contrary, “become” – becoming –, it was a relief. She says he was never as happy as when he went anywhere alone. In fact, the longer it took to arrive, the better. Walking was pleasant, cycling was fun. But the train was a true paradise: it was as the landscapes flashed through the glass that reality made sense and the pieces fit together. So it was the movement that offered him the keys to being, to go through the years.

It happens like this: staying still does not help to measure some of the most important things in life, but neither does it help to see Lake Télé – nor perhaps to, at last, glimpse the Mokèlé-mbèmbé, although this is only the photographer’s assumption.

The lake can only be embraced, touched, in all its immensity, from afar. Sometimes a remote lake in the confines of a swamped jungle reminds us that only movement and distance allow us to get closer to reality.