As I experience time passing –both around and within me, it becomes harder not to get lost in thoughts of life and death. This body of work is all about the cadence of insights that stemmed from something unique yet simultaneously so universal: childhood and fatherhood.

The keepers of our stories

When I became a dad, my immediate environment changed. I began to notice the need to adjust to new routines. Everything was novel, and the mixed anxiety and curiosity towards what was in front of me were very similar to the feeling I had when visiting new places for the first time. It all felt different, and naturally, I started photographing what unfolded in front of me. There was no intention to tell a story, nor to formally document something.

Three months later, I received a call. It was about my dad. He was about to take his last departure and I found myself juggling with both extremes of life. 

Time played its part, and when grief settled, a striking fact hit me: I couldn't help but recognize my dad on my daughter’s face expression, moods and reactions. Later on, when my son arrived it was impossible not to see the resemblance. Literally and figuratively, it was as if my dad’s essence was being projected whenever I see the kids being themselves. 

They look alike when getting serious and display unconditional care for the people they love. Did I have some looks from my father as well?  What I do realize is the intention they have when they look at me. It’s the same I used to have when looking at my dad. It was a look that sought subtle complicity or perhaps approval, distilled with a warm smile that assured me he was proud of me.

The exceptional moments with my own father were in the ordinary of our relationship, and because of that, those precious memories were doomed to be sunk in the ocean of my oblivion.

Confused about the idea that everything is in constant motion and change, I’ve find myself obsessed with protecting the few memories I have left. Although the kids are no longer babies, I still want to protect them with all my strength. Similarly, I want to protect the new memories I have with them. I want to make them timeless, boundless.

When looking at my children, I can't help but feel the relief of somehow bringing up old memories. Although they come and go like flashes, they briefly resurface to help me understand who I am, where I came from, where we are going, and my present as a mixed representation of reality and memories.

Using Format