"All the chairs in the house would be placed around the table in the small dining room, on which my father would have put the projector and the reels of our family films, taken months before. On the other extremity of the room would be put a white projection screen, hanging from a tripod in front of the projector. And so a small projection room was born.
Poppa would prepare everything with such care. The projector, the reels, the acids and the small machine needed if there were burns, the scissors and the scotch-tape. If the reel got stuck during the projection there was the risk that it would burn in the places touching the strong light - which would then become the parts to remove. The most difficult part was initially inserting the reel into the projector: we would hold our breaths. But hearing the sound of it rolling, intermittent but continuous, was the sign that everything was going well..."
Forty years later, due to a house relocation I found myself with those dusty boxes left by my father. Inside, reels labeled with care indicating date and time would stir memories of the filmed event. The projector, also in its original box, wasn't working anymore, as weren't the films which barely stood the test of time. Memories were disappearing in front of my eyes, and this work was born with the objective of saving my memory, that which I consider the true legacy of my father.
From a technical point of view I asked a specialized center, which transferred to VHS parts of the existing reels, not without running into a fair share of problems. During this phase, with my camera, I retraced the same gaze of my father which had filmed the scenes. From the continuous stream of the projector on a hanging white projection screen, I instinctively took shots that felt important to me.
My eyes inside his - now that years have passed and he isn't there anymore - moved me.
I gave back, through my gaze of today, what he had seen and filmed back then.