The Guatemalan Highlands hold scars that never fully healed. Despite its violent past, the land radiates an indelible energy, a vitality passed from one generation to the next. It’s a place where trauma meets resilience, where memory is heavy but never inert. For the past five years, Juan Brenner (b. 1977, Guatemala) has immersed himself in this landscape, photographing its people and terrain to document a slow, complex shift—a generation coming of age against a backdrop of entrenched history.
His project, Genesis, is a five-chapter meditation on daily life, portraiture, bling, urban landscapes, and raw, unfiltered accidents. Through this work, he confronts his own place as a “Mestizo” observer navigating the fraught space between heritage and modernity. What emerges is a fierce and tender portrait of a region reclaiming itself.
In this conversation, we touch on colonial residue, identity crises, cultural resilience, and the artist’s honest attempt to make sense of it all.
When did you know it was the right time to go back to Guatemala and start this project?
I actually moved back to Guatemala years before starting this project. I used to be a fashion photographer in NYC and relocated to Guatemala in 2009 after more than a decade in New York. My lifestyle had gotten out of control, and I needed grounding—something I felt I could only find here.
I essentially stopped shooting altogether because I knew there was no real “fashion photography” career to pursue in Guatemala. So, I threw myself into graphic design and art direction as a way to support myself creatively and financially.
I started working on Genesis right after finishing my first monograph, Tonatiuh. That was my first real connection with the Guatemalan highlands, and while both projects explore the same territory, they approach the reality of the highlands in very different ways.
What does Guatemalan identity mean to you personally, and how did this understanding evolve throughout the creation of “Genesis”?
It continues to evolve as I learn more and gain a deeper understanding of the highlands’ reality from a “Mestizo” perspective. Realizing that I don’t fully belong to this ecosystem has been humbling, but at the same time, the concept of my own “Mestizo” reality keeps expanding. In my own way, I’ve created spaces where I can grow and experiment.
The Guatemalan highlands are a territory that has been under siege for the past 750 years—war, invasion, genocide, natural disasters, and heavily populated towns are all part of a reality that is uniquely lived here, today, at this moment.
How did this journey change how you see your homeland and yourself?
It was the most intense and exciting journey. Genesis is a complex and dense book, but it only mirrors the reality of the highlands. Standing in the middle of one of the area’s markets teaches anyone why the highlands operate the way they do. I really wanted this project to be an archive—a five-year documentation of life in the mountains, where I spent my time processing and, above all, listening to what people had to say about their reality and how they perceived my work.
The most important word in this discussion is “Mestizo.” The term refers to someone of mixed racial or ethnic heritage, typically with both Indigenous and European (often Spanish) ancestry, especially in Latin America. It can also be used more broadly to describe any mixed-race person.
Seeing my work evolve in this way has been both an eye-opener and a means for me to express my doubts and questions, allowing me to approach my work with respect and admiration.
During our quick chat at Paris Photo last November, you mentioned being stuck in a room full of pictures during editing. Can you take us into that experience? How did that intense phase shape the final story of the book?
This body of work represents a five-year journey, with more than 300 rolls shot. The editing process was a nightmare, as the sheer volume of scanning needed was overwhelming. I started with 1,000 images pinned to a wall, and I got stuck for months trying to make sense of a sequence.
Everything changed when I let go of the idea of creating a perfectly sequenced, minimal, and exquisite book—I had been there, done that. Once I accepted that this was going to be a very large book, everything started to click.
What kind of impression or message about Guatemala are you hoping to convey to your audience through “Genesis”? It must be quite a challenge to balance personal narratives with broader cultural representation.
The book is divided into five distinct chapters, each offering a unique perspective. The first chapter offers a glimpse into daily life, focusing on the interactions between people. The second chapter features “classic portraits” of the individuals who give life to the Guatemalan Highlands. The third chapter explores the concept of “bling,” examining our cultural obsession with metal and sparkle, and how this obsession is reflected in music, art, and fashion today. The fourth chapter looks at the “Urban Landscape,” investigating how ideas of progress—like development and infrastructure—intersect with nature and the sacred mountains. The final chapter, which I call “B sides,” captures the accidents and imperfections that, though not traditionally beautiful, reveal a raw and authentic essence of the Highlands. This somber conclusion feels essential to the narrative. While I wasn’t able to capture every experience, I hope this collection reflects the energy and passion I poured into the project.
Julio Serrano (the author of an essay published in your book) mentioned the project underwent multiple permutations. Can you share more about these transformations and what drove the shifts in your focus or methodology?
Julio got involved with the project shortly after I settled on the final “structure” of the book. Before that, I spent more than six months struggling with how to present the work. I wrestled with the idea of gathering a large number of images and making sense of such a multi-layered reality. Ultimately, I decided to present it as an “archive”—an honest and transparent representation of what I encountered over those five years. My narrative is inevitable, as I was the one out there capturing the images. Even though I aimed to remain as impartial as possible, the work is undeniably mine, and that’s something you can feel. That’s exactly what I wanted.
Before landing on the “five-chapter” approach, I kept hitting walls trying to make sense of the massive amount of images. The key shift I needed to make was in how I appreciated and understood the situations in front of me. It felt like a breath of fresh air when I decided to stop thinking of myself as just a photographer during the editing process and instead embrace the role of an archivist or organizer in order to achieve something coherent.
How do the themes of Mesoamerican identity, personal memory, and contemporary perspectives intertwine in your storytelling through photography? There’s gotta be some tension between those layers—like a personal conflict in making sense of your identity while translating it for an audience unfamiliar with it.
The process evolved with each trip and each portrait. I am not claiming to fully understand what lies ahead with this project, but I do recognize that it has the potential to become the most significant body of work I have ever undertaken, given its profound importance to so many people. With that comes a tremendous responsibility to approach it with the utmost care, ensuring that my work is informed by extensive research and diverse references. My goal is to incorporate everything into the “blender” of editing and sequencing that will ultimately shape the final project.
How do you perceive Guatemala’s cultural memory evolving amidst the pressures of global neoliberalism and migration? In what ways does this struggle between retaining heritage and embracing global influences manifest in your work?
I use photography to dive into the fluid, abstract sides of identity and territory. My goal is to shed light on the complexities of cultural mixing, and how power dynamics, hierarchies, and inequalities continue to shape societies over time. These are issues that show up in a lot of countries around here, especially those with similar colonial histories. The Spanish colonial legacy created a whole set of archetypes that still play out across Latin America.
For me, “Genesis” was a way to make sense of the complex dynamics in the highlands. Every trip has helped me grow as an artist, and I’m very conscious of the Mestizo influence in my work. I get that I’m part of this story, but I also know I’ll never fully belong to it. Still, I felt a strong pull to dive into this archival project. One of the main things I want to highlight in the book is that Mayan culture is alive and thriving, more powerful than ever, you can feel it in the air, the mountains exude energy, and tons of young people are working hard to keep their traditions alive.
The youth in the highlands are the first generation that can really connect with their peers around the world in a meaningful way, and I’m excited to see what comes out of this melting pot of cultures and ideas.
You’ve mentioned feeling caught between not being “white enough” while residing in the USA or “Indigenous enough” while coming back to your homeland. How do you navigate these identity conflicts?
That’s by far the most complex conversation of all. It’s tough because I really wish I could belong, I wish I could fully understand, and I wish I could be a part of what I’m photographing. I’d love to have a clear sense of how to approach it all, and how to explain what I do—it’s a work in progress, a journey I keep navigating with each visit to the highlands.
How do you see the younger generation in the Highlands grappling with their cultural traditions while embracing modern aesthetics?
Working with Gen Z is a recurring theme in my personal work. For the past 25 years, I’ve been making an effort to stay “in the loop”—it feels necessary. Besides the amazing energy I get from them, I see a lot of myself in their faces, whether it’s through fashion, music, or lifestyle. For me, an ideal moment is stumbling across a group of skater kids at a park, having a chat, and snapping some photos—that’s the dream.
I also recognize the complexities in how younger generations see the world, and I really value how communication plays a key role in their experiences and interactions. At the end of the day, I vibe with their energy and perspectives, and I’m excited to keep learning and engaging with them every chance I get.
A lot of artists are diving back into their roots these days. Why do you think this introspective trend is happening now?
I believe the current moment offers a unique opportunity for artists to explore and address any number of important topics. The socio-political climate is constantly shifting, and while there is still a spotlight on issues like race, identity, belonging, and territory, I sense that challenging times lie ahead. The space for these conversations may close sooner than we think.
It feels urgent to keep the dialogue alive, even if it means approaching it from new angles. The Eurocentric North is poised to implement policies that could have a significant negative impact on Latin America, and it’s crucial we stay vigilant. Let’s hope for the best, but also prepare for the challenges ahead.
After showing “Genesis” at Paris Photo, what reflections have you had? What’s next for you?
At the moment, I’m finishing the sequencing for a project in the Ecuadorian Highlands, where I’m retracing Pedro de Alvarado’s failed attempt to conquer Peru in 1534. As I work on this project, I keep encountering the same archetypes and figures that I’ve seen in my own homeland, which feels like a deepening connection to these historical narratives.
I’m also deeply involved in a project exploring the occult and syncretism in the Guatemalan Highlands. The more I think I’ve finished exploring this territory, the more it seems to pull me back, revealing new images and stories that keep me coming back for more. It’s impossible to stay away—there’s always something new to uncover.