Experienced baggage of an untold history. The memories we have, the ones that stay with us. It is impossible to tell an individual narrative without looking at the collective.

What are the memories we carry of ourselves?

RAM memory, our social memories, our stories that we are telling and that we tell based on what was told to us. This is how we arrived in virtual space, the Internet. What are these stories we are telling? That was my investigation.

 

As we are being conditioned to be nothing less than data, bait for companies, which in turn are increasingly slaves to social networks, which in turn is just a cog in a large system. Are we artists or producing machines? 

Memories is opening pandora's box. There are memories that remain somewhere, like in the work of the poet Ferreira Gullar, even when we think we have deleted them. But are memories the only immortal thing in us?
That indestructible particle, as infinite as anything in the universe. From photographs, works never revealed, paintings and illustrations kept with me for a long time, I began to think that working with these memories could be a sign that the true rite of passage and new life is actually this care. Live them, even those that open the doors of spaces where wounds are open. Wouldn't we all be living from the beginning of our existence with some open wounds?