The urge to escape reality during the first Covid lockdown led me to revisit my archive of images, mostly taken while travelling. Images from differenmoments and places anxiously consumed my mind spawning a utopia, a kaleidoscope
of old and new memories, altogether coexisting in one place.

In the same way the human eye perceives colour I deconstructed my images, using the contact printing process onto 20x16 inches expired photographic paper and printing over another layer through an inkjet plotter. I imagine that I am reviving old rusty parts and by overlaying colour I embed them with new significance.

These memories overlap and tie together like a line of thoughts. The idea of a line becomes physically apparent throughout the work and is reflected in material time and space, at times organic and fragile as a leaf, at times rigid and strong as the frame of a window. The process of resignifying
my images challenges the capacity of printing technologies and the photographic medium, whilst creating a utopia where the possibilities of the presen coincide with the memories of the past.

In this series, I explore perception and image construction using alternative printing methodologies. These analogue methods enhance the serendipity element within my work whilst simultaneously embedding it with a sense of nostalgia.

Shifts and ghost images become palpable, revealing the fallible essence of memories, merging and losing the image and its initial meaning. The construction of a visual narrative, sometimes false or inaccurate, expands the gap i time between past and present, between here and there, opening a safe space for both the artist and the viewer to experience memory and space.

My brother Franco and I would jump the fence, which was covered with plants and wonder into the ever growing hydra next door to the back garden of our family house in Villa Ventana. Our parents would be sleeping the ‘siesta’ and we would be playing the exploreres or maybe we were commanded by dad to pick up as many cones as possible to start the fire for the asado.This is a picture of that portal.



I’m obsessed with memory and close-ups, and I am constantly looking for ways to deconstruct my images, to the point they become unrecognisable and almost abstract, just like a forgotten memory. This is a close-up of the Agapanthus plant at the front of my family house in Villa Ventana, Argentina. The way the light hits those leaves just takes me back there. Every summer, my mum would sit my siblings and I in front of this plant to take a picture of us.
Like trying to fix time. The agapanthus is still ther

A picture I took with my heart broken in 2018 in Mallorca. After falling off the invisible ladder while climbing up my bed at 3am after work, high with a lasagna in hand. I ended up in hospital with my then new friend Julia and ten stitches behind my ear. I then decided to take a break and went to visit my cousins in Mallorca. How funny is it I came accross a ladder heading to the sky?

Like if I could still smell the fresh air coming from that window that morning. A window you might not remember, but I do. And from that smell, I can then recall my movements right after taking that picture. And for a moment it all seems alive but blurred. Can a picture take me back in time?