This tree collage represents the one thing we value the most but at the same time tend to oversee: Our lives, our memories. I love going to antique fairs and was in one of them where the pictures in it were found. Many people go by this fair and see old pictures every sunday in downtown Rio de Janeiro but only a few really notice them. If the guy who was selling them didn’t rescue them in a recycling center, they would be gone. Now they are safe, but in the hands of a stranger; a well-intended, but still a stranger. I feel privileged to have then and although they bring me a great satisfaction they also bring some kind of sadness. They raise many questions in my mind: Who are they? What were they thinking, feeling in those moments? For how long they have been dead? Are all of them dead? How many are forgotten? What is their story? Were they happy, satisfied with their life’s? Did they died at home sleeping, or with some disease, or in a tragedy? What happened to their family? Why those pictures ended up in the trash? What happens when everyone close to you is dead? Who is going to take care of your treasure? I have no idea where these pictures where taken or when. Some of them have dates on the back, some are dated 1920’s or 1950’s but most of them have no information about them. The best word I can find to describe this project is called “Saudade”, a word in portuguese which can’t be really translated to English. In wikipedia it says: “It describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing will never return. A stronger form of saudade may be felt towards people and things whose whereabouts are unknown, such as a lost lover, or a family member who has gone missing.
“The photographer is an armed version of the solitary walker reconnoitering, stalking, cruising the urban inferno, the voyeuristic stroller who discovers the city as a landscape of voluptuous extremes. Adept of the joys of watching, connoisseur of empathy, the flâneur finds the world ‘picturesque.” (Susan Sontag)