There are trips that seem incomplete until they are over and at rest. You find on your return that everything remains the same, but different, like an imposter of your own life. Experiences that confront you with a memory that mutates and makes you long for the unexpected when you finally absorb everything you have lived through.

Traveling far away suppresses your identity, revealing it as a fictitious and circumstantial construction. Something static like a house to return to that blurs proportionally to the distance of anchorage. I remember that for days I had the strange sensation of being no one as I wandered the streets of Mexico with no one knowing more about me than what meets the eye. There is nothing in the fridge that defines you: you adapt, you eat what is available. In the streets there are no acquaintances, and this feeling does not diminish when you get to your room, where a strange bed and a closet is almost all you have. Everything is reduced to the minimum expression, including yourself.

It’s funny how time relocates memories in the right boxes, enhances the important and discards the obvious.

Photography is always one step ahead when it talks about us, being aware of this classification and defending that intangible identity that we believe to be lost when we are far away from home, echoing what we have not yet learned.

These images show accidentality, contrast, randomness, unnoticed beauty suspended life as a reflection of the search and the encounter.
Over time my images and my memories match like the lines of two identical transparencies.

Sonia Espigares. October 2016