Pica Na’ is a long-term documentary photography project exploring the environmental crisis threatening artisanal fishing in Colombia. The title comes from the colloquial expression "pica na’"—meaning "nothing’s biting"—commonly used by fishers to describe a bad day. But today, it captures a deeper reality: fish are disappearing, and with them, the future of traditional fishing livelihoods.
The project follows three fishing communities facing critical ecological challenges. In Puerto López (Meta), massive rice monocultures are drying up the Metica River. In Lorica (Córdoba), cattle ranching and slash-and-burn agriculture are degrading the wetlands of the Ciénaga Grande del Bajo Sinú. And in Chimichagua (Cesar), the overuse of fine-mesh nets like trasmallos and chinchorros has led to the collapse of fish populations in the Ciénaga de Zapatosa, one of Colombia’s most important freshwater bodies.
Despite being a country shaped by rivers and bordered by two oceans, Colombia’s fishing cultures remain largely invisible in national discourse. Pica Na’ seeks to document and elevate these territories, where fishers are navigating the intersecting pressures of environmental destruction, weak regulation, and economic instability.
Rather than centering a single community or event, the work builds a mosaic of interconnected stories—linking landscapes, tools, gestures, and forms of knowledge. It focuses on the labor of fishing itself. Through this lens, Pica Na’ becomes both a document of ecological vulnerability and a testimony to human perseverance.
Started in 2024, the project is envisioned as a long-term visual inquiry into the future of small-scale fisheries in Colombia. It reflects a commitment to careful observation, to listening, and to building trust with the communities inolved.
Ultimately, Pica Na’ is not just a story about fishing. It’s a story about water, survival, and the fragile threads connecting people to their environment. As climate change and extractive industries reshape the country’s ecosystems, this project sounds a visual alarm—and invites reflection on what’s at stake.