Small stories, pieces of me.
Individual portraits, ideas calling for more photos but, by circumstances, left in a drawer and never extended into a series.
Portraits that are the work itself,
away from the others, unclassifiable, unrelated…. but I want to show them.

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My father shaved at the age of 56, for the first time in 37 years. We wanted to be with him to be part of the process and so that it would not be traumatic. Even he didn’t recognize himself in the mirror!

Mirrors where you look at yourself, people whom you see yourself reflected in. Wounds that are yours. Wounds that are opened. Wounds that you thought had healed and re-bleed. A past that never disappears.

Chocolate yoghurts in the drawer of the refrigerator. "And our dead with us that no one left behind."

My friend, the painter Isabel Ramoneda about to make a change.

And hope…