CERÚLEO – Lo que quedó
Eighteen years ago, we left Argentina.
We were seven minus one, and I was eleven.
We left for Seville carrying more invisible weight than suitcases.
Since then, I’ve returned twice, alone.
Once at sixteen.
Once almost a decade later.
We were seven minus one, and I was eleven.
We left for Seville carrying more invisible weight than suitcases.
Since then, I’ve returned twice, alone.
Once at sixteen.
Once almost a decade later.
This project is an attempt to reconstruct those comings and goings,
those fragments of time before we left.
My grandmother’s house.
The neighborhood.
The traces of who we were.
The silence of what was never said.
those fragments of time before we left.
My grandmother’s house.
The neighborhood.
The traces of who we were.
The silence of what was never said.
The photographs were taken at different times:
some with old cameras, others with new eyes.
I brought them together through risograph printing, first in blue.
The blue of the flag. Of nostalgia.
Of a surname that sounds like the sky.
some with old cameras, others with new eyes.
I brought them together through risograph printing, first in blue.
The blue of the flag. Of nostalgia.
Of a surname that sounds like the sky.
But as I edited, two intertwined stories emerged.
One in black and white: my father’s, who never went back.
One in blue: my mother’s, who did.
Both escaped trauma, loss, silence.
And with this book, I try to make space for them.
To weave their memories with my own.
To listen to what remained.
One in black and white: my father’s, who never went back.
One in blue: my mother’s, who did.
Both escaped trauma, loss, silence.
And with this book, I try to make space for them.
To weave their memories with my own.
To listen to what remained.
(This is an ongoing project. An attempt to listen, to gather, to remember.
2025. A book in the making.)
2025. A book in the making.)