Frammenti started as a way for me to come to terms with my grandmother’s dementia, a way to accept that she had changed, and that my relationship with her had changed too. Her condition worsened during COVID, and she moved into a care home at a time when no one in the family could visit.
When visits were allowed, it was through a glass window. It all happened so suddenly, and I didn’t really have the chance to process it.
This project gave me another way to connect with her. Through stories from my father, his siblings, and other relatives, through old family albums, archival images, and the objects she left behind, I began to piece together parts of her life I had never known. It became a way to spend time with her, even if she wasn’t fully herself anymore. And in a way, it helped me get to know her better.
This project gave me another way to connect with her. Through stories from my father, his siblings, and other relatives, through old family albums, archival images, and the objects she left behind, I began to piece together parts of her life I had never known. It became a way to spend time with her, even if she wasn’t fully herself anymore. And in a way, it helped me get to know her better.
Floral Chair, Crema. 2024
It was a way for me to appreciate who she was, to accept who she is now, and to un- derstand the ways dementia reshapes identity, memory, and relationships. Rather than simply witnessing the disappearance of identity, I hope to raise awareness and foster improved understanding of the profound changes experienced by individuals and their families when dealing with this challenging condition.
The project mostly focused on images representing the last objects left behind in her home after she moved out. Each object carries a memory and brings back the feeling of time spent in that house as a child, with her and my grandfather. Photographing them became a way to hold onto those memories, especially at a time when so much was changing.
The project mostly focused on images representing the last objects left behind in her home after she moved out. Each object carries a memory and brings back the feeling of time spent in that house as a child, with her and my grandfather. Photographing them became a way to hold onto those memories, especially at a time when so much was changing.
Igino, Adolfo, Emma e Tina in 1937, Darkroom Chemigram on Archival photograph, 2024
The project also includes videos of my grandmother with her family, including a conversation between my dad and his sister as they try to piece together past memories. She didn’t always remember, but she really enjoyed those moments of remembering together.
