This editorial project gravitates around the concept of incommunicability and how our emotional memory can influence our gaze.
I have nothing to tell you except the things I would say to you in a whisper. It is a slow, indecisive and at times confused story, it is a look made up of two points of view.
My mother’s, a deaf woman, and my father’s, a man who doesn’t speak. I asked myself: – how does our memory act when we remember someone that we loved? –                          so I decided to entrust them with the creation of the images for this book. Their unconscious dialogue becomes my archive to curate and compose their shots I created a memoir, an intimate diary. To their photographic gaze, mine is added, in text form, in a stream of consciousness that analyzes the evolution of my gaze.
M and P are the protagonists of this visual story. Months ago I gave them two analog cameras, two compact lying about why in a way that doesn’t affect their gaze.                   The final editing was done on 6 rolls, 3 each and formally all images occupy the upper right corner.  There are no page numbers and the narrative flow of time is represented by a code: M/P the author of the image, 1-2-3 the roll, 01… is the photograph present in the roll.
The book has the ambition to be something unsaid, a gap. An intentional omission of parts of a story and at this point it may even seem easy to speak of incommunicability by omitting, literally not photographing but I believe that deciding what not to say, what not to photograph is the conscious choice of my research and, in full, the choice of each author.