Collage of Cyanotypes toned and layered with passport photos of me and my parents. Watercolor paper and tracing paper, 21x15x3cm
How many times do we look at ourselves in the mirror without knowing who we are, how many times do we walk down the street without the slightest idea of ​​the reason for our existence. Why is our face what it is? Is our character so unique and unrepeatable? Is our life only the result of our choices? Or are we influenced by our DNA? To what extent are we original people?
To tell this project, I must necessarily talk about my past. When my mother got pregnant she had problems with heroin addiction and I was born with convulsions on December 23, 1983 at the end of the winter solstice, like an unexpected gift, one of those you wouldn’t have wanted but can’t refuse. From her stories she got pregnant because my father hit his head against the shelf in the middle of intercourse; what she forgot to tell me is that my father, half of my DNA, was not the person she had married in her shotgun wedding, he was not the one I called dad and loved..