Sandra Olivares, known artistically as Sann OC, photographs to feel, to remember, and to hold onto fleeting moments before they disappear. Born and raised in Mexico City, one of the largest and most complex urban landscapes in the world, her work is shaped by contrast: Chaos and tenderness, danger and kindness, nostalgia and presence.
“I am a deeply emotional person,” she says. “I cry easily over what happens around me, even over things that might seem simple, but that for me carry enormous weight. Living this way is not always easy, because sometimes everything hurts intensely.”
“In Mexico City, like any big city, many contrasts live together,” she says. “There are beautiful spaces, privileged zones, and others that might not seem beautiful at first glance, but that deeply attract me. The neighborhood where I grew up is the place where I have lived my entire life,” she reflects.
“It is a neighborhood full of nuances. There are areas where danger can be felt—and in some cases it does exist—but it also holds a very particular beauty. It is an old neighborhood and, for that reason, it preserves businesses that have been there for decades, perhaps more than a hundred years. Even the tree in front of my house could be that old. It is a place that has seen generations pass.”
Her grandfather grew up there, too. “He used to tell us what the neighborhood was like when he arrived: There were no houses, everything was a large green space. The few homes that existed were far apart from one another. There were butterflies, lakes, and silence. The city center, which today is so close, back then seemed distant and inaccessible because there was no transportation or the conveniences that exist now. That was many years ago.”
“Over time, I have witnessed how the neighborhood has changed,” she says. “Sometimes that change makes me feel nostalgic. I remember the bakery I went to as a child, the shops that preserved the essence of the seventies and eighties. Today many of them no longer exist. They were replaced by modern, global businesses. As someone deeply romantic, it has hurt me to see laundries and tailor shops disappear when the people who ran them die and there is no one to continue the craft.”
Looking back, Sandra remembers how photography entered her life early, guided by her grandfather. “He was a great lover of cameras and images,” she notes. “When he took a photograph, he took all the time in the world. People would get impatient and tell him, ‘okay, okay, take it already,’ but he waited for the exact moment.”
Art was essential to him. “Photography, painting, music—everything related to art fascinated him. He never told me to follow that path, but his way of living influenced me deeply. Without realizing it, he taught me how to look.”
Cameras were always present at home. “My sisters and I took photos from a very young age. I even took my camera to elementary school and photographed my classmates. I had a cat named Misifús, and I used entire rolls of film photographing him.” At the time, photography was memory—something tangible to hold onto.
Over the years, her relationship with photography shifted. “There was a moment when I left it aside,” she says. “But around my twenties, I began taking photos again, as a way of registering the people I shared life with.”
Eventually, photography became something else entirely. “For me, photography is a record, but above all it’s freezing a moment. That instant will never exist again. The same wall might be there, the same tree, but that moment is gone. Photography stops it.”
For Sandra, photography is a way to organize and put emotions into perspective. “Each image I take is linked to a feeling. It is not only about something that might look beautiful. Sometimes I photograph abandoned places or scenes that are not obvious at first glance, but that deeply move me.”
She explains, “I like to look at life through the camera because, when I look back at my photographs, I return to that exact instant. They take me back to the moment when I felt joy, sadness, nostalgia, pain, or happiness. Each photo holds an emotion. None exists without it. No photograph is neutral. All of them have an emotion. All of them carry something deeply romantic or sensitive. That is my way of looking at and feeling the world.”
In terms of defining her style, Sandra says it is difficult to label. “If I had to name it, I would say it is an emotional style, although I know that does not exist as a formal category. Even so, it is what defines me the most. I do not seek to photograph something specific. I do not pursue people, places, or concrete themes. I photograph what provokes something in me, what moves me emotionally. That is why it is hard for me to say what type of photography I do. If I had to give it a title, it would be street photography.”
Technically, Sandra’s preparation is simple: The camera charged one hundred percent and going out for a walk. “I am not someone who photographs all the time. I do not shoot nonstop. I wait. When something moves me, when it truly triggers an emotion, then I take the photograph. I do it because I want to share it or because I know that, when I look at it again, it will take me back to that instant and to what I felt at that moment,” she says.
“I also take care of the basics: staying well hydrated, protecting myself from the sun, and walking calmly. Sometimes I go out to photograph with my daughter, who has her own little camera and enjoys doing it. Sharing that moment with her is, for me, something deeply valuable.”
Sandra lives in a city marked by urgency and exhaustion. “It feels like everyone is in a hurry. People are tired, stressed, angry. You feel it in the streets, in traffic, in public transportation.” But she chooses to look elsewhere. “Paradoxically, there is also a lot of kindness. Much more than we sometimes acknowledge. And I choose to look at that.”
She does not deny the violence or sadness present in Mexico. “I don’t erase those things from my mind,” she says. “But wherever I go, I look for and find beauty. For me, that’s the gratifying part—to show that even in the middle of chaos, deeply beautiful things exist.”
One of the most meaningful experiences photography gave her happened unexpectedly in Mérida. She entered what she thought was a barbershop and discovered it was a man’s home. “The walls were full of photographs—portraits of people, many of them already gone. The space was filled with memory.”
She photographed him and his home. Before she left, he said: “Que Dios te bendiga.”
“I never felt fear,” she says. “I felt calm. I think we all have a sensitivity to know when something isn’t right. It’s important to explore with care, but also without fear.”
There is one photograph she considers a turning point: an image of the now-closed Feria de Chapultepec, taken while she carried her infant daughter. “I was going through many changes in my life, mainly becoming a mother. I felt something very strong when I took that photo. And when I looked at it again, that emotion intensified.”
That image confirmed something essential. “It made me understand why I like photographing. I like seeing my emotions reflected in my images. Photography is where I can return to them.”
Looking forward, she dreams of a project centered on women. “I grew up surrounded by women. The greatest love of my life is my daughter. My bond with the feminine runs through the way I look and feel.” She wants to speak about women from strength, care, and presence. “Vulnerability exists, but it does not define us.”
“I would like to develop a project that speaks about women from different perspectives,” she explains. “From the injustices we experience structurally and the ways in which we are harmed, never from the place of the victim, because I do not like to look at women that way, but rather from strength, awareness, and experience.”
Sandra conceptualizes a body of work that starts from self-portraiture, from the body, even from nudity, but always from care. “From self-care and care for others,” she explains.
“From everyday work, from the daily life that we sustain. Also from protest, from presence and affirmation: we are here. I am interested in it being a project that builds sisterhood and solidarity.”
As Sandra explains, “a photograph can provoke something very different from what the photographer felt when taking it. In the end, what we feel in front of an image has to do with our own history, our experiences, and our emotions. But when a photograph manages to move something inside us, that is where its strength lies. For me, photography is the ability to transmit and to stop a moment forever. Photography is a time capsule. A way of storing emotions and keeping them alive.”
She hopes one day to look back at her images and return to who she was, what she felt. “They will always be a doorway to that frozen time.”
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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.
