Elide, tell me about your dreams
In December 2018, at the age of 79, Elide set off by bike to sharpen a gardening scissors, and her heart stopped on the way. In the desire to preserve her last traces, I began photographing her house, which remained unchanged three months after her death. Each time I visited, I was obsessed by a question: who was Elide really? Who was she beyond this figure admired for her unwavering devotion to her family? I was never able to get close to my aunt, and my research into her never lifted the veil. The only hint of a sense of satisfaction that went beyond the domestic sphere was to be found in her family trips to sacred places.
I see this space, situated between the house and garden she lived in for a long time, as a microcosm where the deepest frustrations and desires intersect. Giving as essentiel place to imagination and diversion, I have created, through my photographs and family archives, a kind of poetic and critical narrative, sheltering the reverse of an undisclosed and mysterious intimacy, but which, I want to believe, has existed.