I have always loved photographs of objects, still lifes in which there is a subtle vein of melancholy, a sense of abandonment and uselessness, like objects shipwrecked on pavements or in the corners of cities, wrecks left there by men and women who have fled.
In these images there is a sense of suspension, of unresolved issues: on the one hand there is the form and function of the objects in a context, the composition of the photograph, in short, on the other hand there is the absence of those who, by chance, by choice or for who knows what other reason, left those objects abandoned, and of which those same things tell in an elliptical and allusive discourse.
This creates a tension, a question that the photograph cannot answer but which constitutes its meaning, its raison d’être: what happened to the protagonists? And the doubt that it may not have been a happy ending in these troubled times is pertinent.
I believe that in photography, images of objects immersed in their solitude, precisely because their essence is an unanswerable question, can convey that sense of doubt and uncertainty, of emptiness that only the imagination of the viewer can orient in one direction or another, except to admit, as in the last photo of this work, that the arrows can certainly point in opposite directions but are equally devoid of a distinguishable destination.
