Photos of Fights
By José Dominguez, Philadelphia, PA 01/07/2021 — I’m not interested in violence per se I had the voyeuristic tropism to images of some fights. For example, several years ago I did a special photo tour to cover a bullfight in the now-demolished Plaza Monumental in my hometown Ciudad Juarez. I had a very good time and my intent was facilitated since the spectacle process is repetitive. I was prepared to catch the crucial moments with some easiness. I was not happy about the outcome because I ended reflecting that in reality, there was no fight. It was a calculated bloody show where the poor animal has very few chances to fight back or to fend for itself except if the Toreador [bullfighter] commits an error or if the bull did some action out of the routine.
Nevertheless, the photos were neat and showed me how by taking photos it’s possible to freeze the dramatic action with some kind of artistic balance. It was my first photo excursion to a bullfight and it was my last.
Several months later, one Saturday in June 1990 around noon in Ciudad Juarez, my late wife Maria arrived to relieve me from my work shift in our store. I continued having a very good relationship with a family that organized cockfights. I thought the opportunity was set to cover a match with photos in a friendly environment. I had to say that those combats attracted in my humble city lots of persons dedicated mainly to non-legal affairs and it could be dangerous to mess with them in something they took so seriously. My first visit to the facility gave me a chance to enter an underworld scene.
To arrive at the place, I had to travel outside of the city to the southwest by the highway that goes to the Casa Cerrandas. To be there it meant not to be under the protection of the regular city or state police, since the neighborhood was the regular settlements in the middle of the desert. The place consisted of a 2 acre totally walled property. Only those cars that were truly identified as clients or friends were accepted. The family owner gave me a gentle welcome and gave me a tour of the place. It consisted of a more or less big house, not fancy at all. A large area with cock cages, some training grounds on the main construction was the fighting ring. It was a big open warehouse that can easily accommodate 200 people seated and at the center a large wood ring 4 feet tall around a circular arena ten yards in diameter.
The audience was arriving and the amarradores began to set the knives into the animal legs. According to everybody the success of the encounter depended on how well the blades were fixed. The schedule was posted and the first fights were to begin. There were a lot of activity of participants making bets until the event was announced, “Post your bets. Take your seats. We are going to start our first fight. Here we have to my left a white cock from Mr. Perez and to my right the red one from Chava Lopez.”
In the ring center his owner with the orange cock in their hands proceeded to put the animals near the ground and began to spur the birds to prepare them to fight. The rival animals reacted and immediately erected their neck first and moved their bodies violently trying to get free and jump to their adversary. Then the judge gave the order, “Suelten los gallos. Let loose the cocks.”
At that moment they touched the ground and let them free. Each combatant flew to reach the antagonist with legs in front. Immediately both birds confronted each other jumping and running in fatal dance. All it was a pandemonium of strokes, feathers in the air, flapping pecks, sand clouds, and animals frantically moving around the walls defending and attacking. The crowd was screaming and cursing the animals. At last one of them just collapsed and the other covered with blood stood up with difficulty because of the wounds that the defeated cock inflicted on him.
I was using a very good camera and prepared to take pictures at high speed using very sensitive film and to check with theme light. I supposed that my pictures were going to be super, but several days later after the film was developed I noticed that the illumination didn’t help me. The photos were unclear, blue, full of shadows and there were no details. To make things worse, the fighter interaction looked in the prints as a disorganized encounter and disengagement of two silhouettes. All rolls of film had the same outcome— not defined and not well-distributed images. The next time I would use my flash, I decided, with no doubt.
The next Saturday I went furnished with my professional flash ready to capture many detailed images according to my criteria. Even in my previous experience, I noticed that the pair entangled in the fight followed a circle moment near the ring’s circumference. So, I was prepared to shoot, aiming to the arena center. I also prepared myself to follow the pair until they arrived at my position. It happened as I predicted. I started fighting at the center at the ring center then followed the pair in their movements near to the wall until they were near to me.
At that moment, a hand grabbed my shirt by my back my camera went loose to the floor and
an angry man was shouting to me, “You blinded my cock with your flash and you are going to pay for this!” I lost my balance and fall to the ground at the same time that he delivered a thrust against my poor humanity but missed by miracle. At the same time, the ring judge grabbed his arm yelling at him, “I am in command here and you’re are not going to start a fight.” The man accepted reluctantly and lunged at me with hateful looks and saying lots of implications.
The event continued. Shaken as a frightened rabbit, I decided not to try my luck anymore in my artistic endeavor with so many angry men around me. I don’t know if I contributed to the death of that rooster, but I learned it’s better to respect the rules of the audience, especially with that level of violence. The next scheduled fight involved a cock owned by the same person that tried to hit me. But this animal was sent also to the cooks’ cemetery. Some people around were teasing him saying, “Tell us what’s happened with your second cock. Where was the flash that took him to hell?” My lesson in life was that I decided not to institutionalize violence anymore. So, I changed my art appreciation drastically.
