the grammar of memory

Memory is not a neutral monument; it is a living work; in this sense, photography is textual and moral memory. It is a word. There is, however, a language that Auschwitz imposed without words: the grammar of silences. Learning that grammar means not adulterating memory with useless words; it means choosing the place to speak and the moment to remain silent to leave room for truth.It means finding a way to translate absences.

As a photographer, I have often grappled with the ethics of the image: what can be shown? What is permitted to be captured? My work, my mission, is to translate these silences and transcribe them into snapshots. It is not an empty silence; it is a syntax made of pauses, of punctuation that articulate the inexpressible. An incessant and living work, of civil responsibility: photography carries with it secrets that must be treated with respect.

As Primo Levi said, memory is a teaching that never ends. This is my path. It's not just about the past. It's a mirror of the present. I walk through Memory, with a camera always ready to shoot, so that every photograph is not proof that evil exists, but a plea that evil never return.

These pictures are portraits of silences, hopes, fears that have become promises.