I enter my grandmother’s empty house: the shutters are closed, an old silence lingers.
Now, only my uncle João lives here. I search through the drawers for something I’ve never seen before, or don’t remember.
2022-

The white wall in the living room no longer holds photographs – only the marks of frames left behind by time. I find loose photos in one of the family albums. I enter my uncle’s room. The wallpaper, once vivid and patterned, is worn by the years and shows small imperfections that make me imagine stories from his childhood.

Later, I find my uncle at night before he goes to sleep. He looks at me as if to say, “what are you doing here?” A question I find myself also asking at that very moment. I photograph him, to see him now and be able to look at him as he once was.

It was with him that I spent summers in the Algarve and weekends at the House in the Forest. The birthdays, the Tuesday dinners at our grandmother’s house. He was always there, looking at me with his sea-grey eyes. Without words, he told me everything.

Today, I photograph him to tell him I’m here, that I see him. I dive into his dreams and together we swim once again in the sea of Monte Clérigo, surrounded by fish.