Title page

Two months ago I did my first photo exposition and I tried to write about it. I would be lying if I write that when I took these photos I was thinking of telling something. It was just a February morning, we were at my country house and I wanted to take pictures of Irene. At that time I couldn't imagine that months later these photos would be printed on a wall and that I would be organizing my first little exhibition. But I like that at that time these photos were simply portraits, a desire to experiment, to be with a friend. Like when you meet for a coffee in the park and the sun touches your skin. That morning it was a bit like that.

Setting up that exhibition I began to think what my photographies had in common. I realized that something that I have inside, something that I write a lot about (most of the time in the notes on my phone, late at night or on when I’m in the train) is the fear of not remembering. And how sometimes over time things get mixed up, they distort and fade it a bit. Somehow the thought of "today is already being a memory" marked me a lot and it is something that influences me and makes me feel the need to photograph in a more volatile and imperfect way. A bit like how I feel that I remember, like when you try to think of someone you met one night. And I think my work is about this, about these moments and how we remember them. This first part is about Irene.

Desapareciendo (casi)

Fading (almost)

With Irene, I felt that we worked hand in hand, like a blank canvas in which each corner could become something. Suddenly photography became painting and sculpture. Her body was molded, she moved it and I photographed it. The light painted it. We closed the curtains more or turned her body 3 centimeters. A little bit closer, a little bit more away. We moved together, almost like a dance.

That morning was fun. I remember the light from the window and how we started to put boxes and curtains in front so that the light would enter more choppy, and Irene took off her clothes and I remembered the first time I took pictures of her. It was about 6 years ago and it was the first time that I photographed someone totally naked. I remember that I felt more ashamed than she. And I said "I swear I don't see anything, it's so dark that from the camera I don't see anything" and Irene laughed. In general, I have always been a very outgoing person but for me some topics were totally taboo and I felt that I was missing an older sister figure with whom I could talk them. Irene has been a bit my older sister. And it's been six years and I feel like we've seen each other grow.