I have been photographing my parents for more than ten years. It is my need to be able to understand their vulnerability, to accept that at some point they will cease to exist. My story essentially begins when my mother falls ill with cancer. I look again at my parents and it is as if all materiality has been lost from them and only innocence and warmth remains. It is a landmark. And from now on, I involuntarily slip into my past, into my childhood. At the sight of their end, I return to my beginning. I'm going backwards and I talk to myself. This voice is of another time, has another whisper. It has also lost its materiality, it has only innocence, it is undressed and naked.
If the moment of death is the end of personal time, then the life of a dying human being, is no longer accessible to the feelings of those who remain alive; it is dead to those around him. In this impending loss, you feel as if the time that you have spent with your beloved ones is not enough; that you have not loved them as much as you would and you want to love them even more; you observe them insatiably, you capture them. Their existence is given only to your presents, but you reconcile by keeping them in your memory, because only memory has the ability to penetrate the veils of time as if it was serving immortality.