I took this picture some months after my grand mother’s sister had passed away. However I do not conserve vivid memories of that house, as soon as I came in I suddenly felt a strong welcoming feeling. It sounds weird, it is maybe paradoxical, but that empty house made me "feel right at home".
Even if my aunt was not there anymore, in every corner, piece of furniture or ornament I could perceive a familiar presence, in every single room I could see her moves, the traces of her life spent within those walls. One time again I have been fascinated by shooting the daily life, but this time I did it with a temporal detachment; I would ask myself: When did she get up from the sofa? And who was sitting on her side?
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