I feel that something is still missing

In the photographs in I feel something is still missing, I address the strangeness of family relationships between affection and suffocated anguish. In the midst of the pandemic health crisis and more than 600,000 deaths in Brazil during this period, I was confronted with the instability of relationships and the fragility of the home. Almost ten years after leaving home, I returned to my mother's house in the interior of Paraná. A few months later, my brother's marriage broke up, and he and his belongings came. They joined what I already had, my things, and boxes left over from another sister's move. The environment became saturated. In the spontaneous piles of displaced objects with no place to store them, I came across the installations that were forming and recorded the insides of what I felt. Photographing the chaotic is an attempt to order what goes beyond my control in everyday life. The unsaid, the promises that didn't come true, the fabrics and furniture that accompanied us in different cities and homes, the excesses that contrast with the throb of a lack, which is always there. Mother, father, brother, sister, and I, we lose ourselves and interact with the fiction of home, we are objects, prostrate and hostages of a social structure that we reproduce and, on the other hand, wouldn't know how to live without.