While waiting patiently for the best light I wondered what things were those, inside the house, discovered in their abandon and which, despite the silence that could be felt, produced a resonance. I found no note on the existence of the house: an electricity bill, a receipt, an invoice. No document or any record of the life that happened there: a picture, a scrawled notebook, a letter, a wall calendar. Only objects and fragments, cracks and stains remained. And I thought of all that as an archive still to be built, I thought about that accumulation of things, in the unusual of some shapes. In those objects which no longer felt the hand of man and where everything seemed to emerge.
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