I return to the family archive: photographs of my mother, my grandmother’s ring, my niece’s drawings, a textile woven by my mother’s hands. These objects intertwine with images produced at different moments and in diverse formats; times, materialities, and scales overlap.

In Endings Matter, the archive activates as ritual. It is not only memory; it is farewell, gesture, a conscious act of closure. The inherited images hold the weight of what ends, yet they also illuminate what remains.

In Even with Vertigo, the archive shifts. The photographs I receive enter into dialogue with those I produce; past and present images press against one another. It is no longer only about letting go, but about learning to inhabit the space that loss opens. Memory ceases to be a fixed document and becomes living matter.

I use visual narration as an anchor for the construction of identity — not as certainty, but as an ongoing process. A way of moving through grief, tracing my female lineage, and understanding what is redefined when everything changes. In the intersection between the intimate and the material, the image becomes territory. It is there that I rehearse who I am becoming