The pictures that I make are my way to travel to the past.
I make these pictures to reconnect with who I was. With a slower pace. With the colors of yesterday. With my childhood and with those games. The texture of the fabrics from those days against my body. The conquered open air. The days of dirty and adventurous knees. My camera is my time machine. In the pictures I look for my mom. Younger than today. Smaller, with flowing hair. Disheveled and laughing. Carefree. She’s not alone, everybody’s there, who we were and who departed. The friends from school. The animals and their nicknames, their feathers and their hooves. The house that looked much bigger, unconquerable.
I make pictures because it’s my way to close my eyes and to set myself free on top of my own history. Of what I am. Every time I make a picture I’m searching. It’s my way to stop time. And once it’s still, frozen, I climb on top, I sink in its folds. And I search.
