No longer home, 2024
Large-scale handmade accordion photography book and installation
637cm x 30cm

This project began as a way of processing a series of personal transitions that became deeply intertwined: the end of a seven-year relationship, my return to Argentina after almost two decades of living abroad, and the fragile attempt to believe in love again. At its core, the work is about the search for belonging: with others, with myself, and with the places I once called home.
The project unfolds through photography, handwritten notes, and collage, and is structured as a handmade, double-sided accordion book. Its open format allows the work to be read in multiple directions, reflecting the instability and emotional movement that shaped it. The book is divided into three sequences that exist in dialogue with one another.
The left side of the book speaks about loneliness. It explores silence, emotional distance, and the experience of being beside someone while feeling profoundly alone. Where exhaustion and loss are already present, even before the rupture takes place.
The central opening marks a moment of personal searching. During this period, I returned to my home country for the first time as an adult, revisiting places from my past while encountering them through a changed perspective, and discovering new landscapes altogether. These images reflect the tension between belonging and displacement, between who I was and who I was becoming.
The right side tells another story: the feeling of beginning again. At the time of making, this section embodied hope. Seen from a distance now, its meaning has shifted. It moves through illusion, vulnerability, and the coexistence of love and pain, revealing how what once felt like refuge can also dissolve, much like the other stages in the book.
As the work evolved, I came to understand that beyond love or heartbreak, the project was really about the idea of home, not as a physical place, but as an emotional state. Again and again, I searched for belonging in people and places, only to realize how unstable that sense of home can be: something continually built, lost, and rebuilt.
When fully expanded, the book stretches up to fifteen feet, becoming both object and installation. Viewers are invited to move around it, navigate its openings, and find their own rhythm through the sequences. 

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