Last winter I went back to a small village in the Spanish Pyrenees where my family used to get together every Christmas for the holiday. Nearly twenty years had passed since I had last visited this place, and I struggled to remember anything about it.
It’s funny how photographs help us build our idea of the past. All the memories I have about these holidays are based on family snapshots taken by my father and the stories he told me. Being confronted with that landscape again made me realize how little I actually remembered about that time. As if it was the first time I had ever visited, as if I had never been a child at all.
It was then when I started to shoot this series. I felt the need to record the past in my own way, providing it with my own version of its true appearance. But this quickly turned into an impossible mission. While these spaces had remained nearly unaltered, it was me who, for some reason, decided to depict them as threatening scenarios. And then I knew. It was just my unconscious reacting. The sense of protection now felt absent; the girl had grown up and the snow melted under her feet.
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