“I’m not interested in pretty places, but in interesting places—and the same goes for people,” Federico Borobio.
Federico Borobio grew up, as he puts it, “a total street dog,” running through the middle- and lower-middle-class neighborhoods of Buenos Aires that shaped his view of the world. The city—cosmopolitan, restless, culturally electric—formed one part of him. The street formed the other.
“After school,” he remembers, “I met up with my friends every day on the street. We played soccer until it got dark and made some not-too-recommendable mischief, often near the train tracks.” Those childhood wanderings planted in him a lifelong magnetism toward public spaces, crowds, and the anonymous poetry of daily life.
Today, Federico is a street photographer whose work bursts with what he calls “intense, vibrant colors, shadows that create special scenes, silhouettes and curious, sometimes mysterious, cutouts.” His images are built around people—strangers who catch his eye and become protagonists in fleeting stories. “I’ve always felt an enormous attraction to the street, the people, their life, and the massive movements of persons,” he says. Photography became the medium that let him unite all of these fascinations.
His path to the camera began indirectly. He first encountered photography as a film student, working for two years with analog cameras before shifting fully into video editing. It wasn’t until years later, while teaching cultural projects that required him to travel, that the old curiosity returned. “I took advantage of every free moment to go out and photograph,” he explains. When the pandemic hit, he immersed himself in self-taught study—technique, theory, history. “I learned from the great street photographers, and when the streets opened again, I went out like someone possessed.”
Photography quickly became his center of gravity. “It’s my greatest passion,” he says. “Everything about it gives me joy—the shooting, the post-production. When I’m in the street, in that special state of concentration some call the zone, discovering characters, lights, silhouettes… everything is enjoyment.” After long days of shooting, often walking ten kilometers or more, he returns home “feeling like I’ve spent a whole day at a spa—with the most beautiful stimuli in my mind and body.”
Art was always part of his life, long before he picked up a camera. His father was a visual artist of the famed Instituto Di Tella generation, working alongside figures like León Ferrari and Marta Minujín. His mother was an actress, director, and later a prolific theater historian. “Plays were rehearsed in our living room,” he recalls. “Many theater people were friends. On vacations we stayed at the actors’ hotel.” The creative world was not an abstract concept for him—he grew up in its backstage corridors.
Yet Federico’s artistic sensibility didn’t lead him toward polished aesthetics or picturesque subjects. “I’m not interested in pretty places,” he insists. “I’m interested in interesting places—and the same with people.” His work across Latin America shows that preference. He was captivated in Havana by the way neighbors still inhabit their streets. In Guanajuato, it was the architecture—“the light entered through the most surprising places and created all kinds of figures.” Photographing the World Cup celebrations in Argentina was unforgettable precisely because, as he says, “I was completely part of the same thing I was photographing. I came out drenched in beer, foam, shouting. And at the same time, I recorded it all with my camera.”
One photograph in particular—one he took in Mexico—marked a turning point. He describes returning to the same ochre-yellow chapel multiple times after initially feeling he had failed to capture its potential. Using what street photographers call “fishing,” he waited until a man in a poncho walked by, arm extended mid-conversation. The resulting silhouette series taught him something essential: “My search had to combine spontaneity with being fully conscious of the potential in composition, patience, framing, backgrounds.”
Though he photographs across the continent, he continues to reflect on the challenges of working in his own country. Seeing familiar places with fresh eyes is one difficulty. Covering protests—something he has extensive experience with—is another. “The biggest challenge now,” he says, “is coming home in one piece. Repression in demonstrations has become very violent and frequent.”
Federico approaches each outing with care. His preparation list includes the obvious—charged batteries, spare memory cards—and the survival essentials: water, sunscreen, layers of clothing, a sandwich and fruit, gauze for his feet. He even carries a small printed photo album. “Sometimes you need to reassure someone that you really are a photographer,” he says. “Or exchange a photo with a colleague. Or just offer it to someone who inspires you.”
Connection is at the heart of his practice. He stops often to talk with the people he photographs, learning their joys and sorrows. Sometimes those encounters lead to long-term friendships. One of the most meaningful is with Ray Ormandy, a California street photographer he met in Oaxaca. “We developed a deep friendship at a distance—photos, ideas, personal things.” Recently, Ormandy invited him to California. “He’s about to turn 90. His health doesn’t allow him to do photo walks anymore. I stayed with him 45 days.” Federico returned home with an enormous body of work from San Francisco—his current project.
This year also brought photographic journeys to Guanajuato, San Miguel de Allende, and another chapter in his long-term exploration of Buenos Aires’ La Boca neighborhood—one of his favorite places to work.
He still dreams forward. Naples calls to him. “It’s colorful, messy, working-class—just the type of place I get along with,” he says. Japan also tugs at his imagination, “a challenging goal” that continues to fascinate him.
If he could speak to his younger self—and to new photographers—his message would be simple and urgent: “Listen to your instinct. Go out to the street. The best learning comes from doing. Take thousands and thousands of photos. Kick your fear aside. Recognition is satisfying but it comes and goes—it doesn’t mean you’re good. Be your own judge, but compare your work with people you trust. Trust your criteria. And above all, devote yourself to improving as an artist. Everything else is absolutely secondary.”
For Federico Borobio, the street is not just a subject—it’s a lifelong companion, a classroom, a mirror. Photography, he says, is not his whole life, “but sometimes it feels close.” It transforms him, challenges him, and keeps him returning, day after day, to the unpredictable choreography of people, light, color, and chance—where his truest stories are waiting.
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Soledad Quartucci, PhD, CEO, Latina Republic
Latina Republic’s cultural reporting highlights the artists, storytellers, and visionaries shaping the creative heartbeat of Latin America and its diaspora. Through in-depth interviews and narrative features, we celebrate the traditions, identities, and everyday histories that define our communities. Our work uplifts emerging and established voices, giving space to the cultural movements, personal journeys, and artistic expressions that inspire connection and deepen understanding across the Americas.