About

Alberto Ros (Madrid; lives and works in Jakarta) makes photographs to test what remains when beauty stops asking for permission. His practice moves between darkness and glare: the shame that hides, the grief that insists, the tenderness that refuses consolation. He works slowly—wet-plate collodion on glass, silver that remembers tremor, chlorophyll that grows an image inside a leaf, rusted metal that turns into a pedestal—because slowness is his ethics. Material is not décor but argument: glass can break, plants fade, iron scars; the picture inherits that fragility and carries it like truth.

Ros’s images are built for lucidity, not comfort. They interrogate how we look, what we hide to be accepted, and what we discard to stay efficient. He uses early processes and industrial remnants to unlearn the speed and polish that domesticate pain; accidents don’t get corrected—they testify. Light in his work is never neutral: it exposes as much as it shelters, a witness more than a spotlight. Between private fear and public indictment, his photographs ask whether an image can still refuse—refuse the algorithm, refuse the easy tear, refuse to flatter us—so that dignity can enter.