Días sin mí: Contramapas contra el tiempo. Psicogeografías para entender mi construcción

Abstract

Contramapas contra el tiempo is a photo essay that is part of an artistic research process in which the idea of ​​change is investigated as a fundamental motor in the construction of the body and identity. Specifically, the artistic actions that make up this photo essay focus on the idea of ​​memories, past experiences and melancholy to the desire to forget them as an active part in this transition process of the self. Contramapas contra el tiempo speaks of memories, of experiences associated with memories, of the cracks that open in the void that is created when something or someone comes out of those wounds, supplying grief and melancholy. These artistic actions are the procedure and the tools to heal wounds, to embrace them. It is the process of understanding, of self-dialogue with memories in order to understand that forgetting is a mechanism for self-defense and an easier way out, a trap, a bad tribute to the people who one day gave us their place. A bad tribute for me too. These actions are a return to those places with the hope of returning unharmed, returning in case, with a pinch of sadness that reminds us of the happiness lived, the experiences, the learnings so far away and so present, well, no matter how much I deny it, They are part of me and who I am now. They are my footprints, my scars, my ways and my routes. With a beginning and an end. Experiences that were, are and will be. Never again but forever. I carry them on my body, I tattoo them, I hug them, I cover them with gold showing their history, praising my falls. The melancholy of disappearance, of what will not be but somehow will always be in me, at least until I want. Scars, footprints, cracks. Cracks that form streets through which to walk, through which I walked, through which I walk. Places that I inhabited and that are part of my journey. Not places that were places, that were, are and will be and will return and pass. Cartographies in my body, in my emotions. Unknown who were, are and will be. Broken photographs. Contained emotions that are downloaded. Past experiences. Saved experiences. Filled with dust. Forgotten, or at least in the attempt. Now they are dusted off, broken, abandoned, like the facades of non-places that no one inhabits but in which, once, someone lived stories. They are rebuilt from the perspective of growth, from melancholy and positive nostalgia. From the embrace that I once occupied those places where flowers grew and that tell my story. Cracked, scarred, but precious. They are going back to the usual place for the first time.