Traces (On friendship) 

In collaboration with the writer, poet and collage artist, Lena 

Project Statement
“Traces” emerged from a two-day reunion in Barcelona, after years without seeing each other. It follows our first collaboration in 2019, published as a small booklet titled Flowers Have Opened for Less. At first, we struggled to find a language in which to speak to each other — cyanotype opened the conversation. We shared thoughts on the distorted feeling of time, reflections on aging, the desire to keep traces. Lying down on the paper, between presence and absence, our voices overlapped in search of a common language — nous avons laissé des traces d’une amitié flottante.

Self-published and hand sew booklet with a blue thread. Available in a very limited edition. If you are interested to see the full booklet please get in touch. 

​Because we are so used to seeing time as a fine straight line. It's all messed up. Like in our head. Like the way a little bit of skins and flesh all bloody and messy fall out of our vagina every month. It's not just delicate and liquid. It's messy. Like any relationship is. Messy. And maybe it’s also like the thing about languages. Like you say at the end. We used to communicate in one way and now we’re learning different ways. But creating things together is still a shared language.

The photos of us together on the cyanotype turned away and then towards each other feels like a physical cut - the passage of time. There was a moment about a year ago when I was in Corrales sitting by a small pond and suddenly the fabric of light and time felt so thin that I was both in Barcelona in that very moment, and in New Mexico, in a void. The cyanotype and these photographs seem to capture that liminal space I keep feeling - that time isn't real at all - that I’m physically present in every single place I've ever lived and ever will live all in the very same moment. That we are always apart, and always together. That we are always dancing together in a pink-lit gallery in Raval, that we are always thousands of kilometers apart only existing in rare voice notes, that we are always lying on cyanotype sun-printing our bodies on a rooftop in Gracia, that you are always studying philosophy in Paris and I am always here working in the city where I was born.

​That part filled me with joy. The multilayers of time. We keep on adding experiences, but each moment of presence keeps on living together. I am still there. And also I was never there.