Objects

We have always lived surrounded by objects.

Most of them go unnoticed, as if they were part of the air itself or the background noise of everyday life. But there are some that leave a mark—silent yet unforgettable. They are the objects that, at some moment, were important; objects that remained suspended in memory, becoming witnesses of who we once were.

These photographs are fragments of my life, memories encapsulated in forms that speak beyond their appearance. There is, for example, the image of broken dolls lying on the beds of a school in Pripyat, Ukraine—that model city that had to be abandoned after the explosion of the nuclear plant in the Chernobyl Nuclear Disaster. Dolls left behind by children who were forced to flee the radiation, leaving their childhood behind among dust and silence.

Or the marble sculpture of an angel that seems to have crossed the window simply to greet us, frozen in a gesture of eternity.

These are objects that remain in the mind like echoes of a time that refuses to disappear. Each time I look at them, they return me to that moment, to that place. They are traces that resist oblivion, as if reminding us that nothing ever truly disappears.