I enter my grandmother's house, empty, the shutters closed, an ancient silence. Only my uncle João lives here now. I seach the drawers for something I've never seen or don't remember. The white wall of the room no longer hangs photographs, only the mark of time of the frames. I find loose photographs in oneof the family albums. I enter my uncle's room. The brightly patterned but weathered worn by time wallpaper has tiny small imperfections that make me imagine stories from his childhood.
I return in the evening and find my uncle before bed. He looks at me as if to say "what are you doing here?". A question I ask myself at that moment. I take a picture. I do so to see him now and as he was before.
It was with him that I spent summers in the Algarve and weekends in forest house at Borba da Montanha. The birthdays, the Tuesday dinners at Grandma Té-té's house. He was always there looking at me with his blue and grey eyes and wordlessly telling me about his days. Today I photograph to tell him that I am here, that I see him. I dive into his dreams with him and we swim together once again in the sea of Monte Clérigo, surrounded by fish.