When I was a little girl was told me that “when you put a shell to your ear you can hear the sound of the sea, the waves and the blowing of wind.” In the cold northern wind I was wondering about distant places and about the whole world locked up in that tiny shell. Besides the sea I could hear the living sounds, people’s voices, screams, laughter and children crying because they were unwilling to obey theirs mothers and running away into the sea.
Home is for me a subtle sound, a voice, a melody from the past, a faded image, the place where all the roads lead. After my parents passed away prematurely I inherited their house: “The Great Shell” the secrets keeper.
After seeing the house empty of sounds and far away I was swept away by a tide of memories. The past like huge masses of water that strike the walls of the soul reappeared crushing vehemently on the flimsy structure of the corridors which lead to distant worlds.
While I was wandering around the familiar rooms I came across some old pictures, household object which brought back memories of my childhood; the testimony of previous lives, faces, looks, far away presences which is useless trying to give any sort of identity. Only a name, a place and a date on the back, nothing more. I tried to tell the story where the past and the present are intertwined taking pictures which are clippings of my present while reminiscing about the distant places where I use to live as a child, everything is blended together in an embrace
