The house of secrets

The house of secrets.

For me, this photograph means many things, it is a pottery vase that my grandmother gave me when I was 9 years old and she has it in 1980. This object brings back good and bad memories, since it was present throughout my childhood and is totally  strange for me at least the appreciation or attachment to certain material things, like this piece of pottery. I am attached to what this object means to me, not for what it is, but for the memories that it stores.

More than anything, I am also struck by the sense of the place that this house occupies in my room, it was an object that was present in different ages, childhood, adolescence and in different moments of my life. Many times I wanted to destroy it but I could not because of the simple fact that it was given to me by my grandmother and because of her long hystory through the years.

I still have it and I love it, now it is part of my story.