Das Palavras A Pele
Cecilia Sordi Campos, Brazil
The sun should have never risen. But it did. You touched my back, ran your fingers on the half moon that was not there. The same way I now run my fingers on the sheets where you slept. I sit by the lake, in reverie, while the lights dance on the surface. I close my eyes and see the man I once was, the man from another lifetime, stare back at me. The two bodies hung. I ask myself and the crow that flew past. Bad omen. It is better luck to have two crows flying. I looked up, and she was there, mamma. And I cursed you. I asked mamma to show you my eyes staring back at you every time you closed yours. Mamma tells me you are not coming back, because you never left in the first place. The grapes remain uneaten, rotting. We danced by mamma’s light. The bee came. The dog barked. The bat flew. The waves broke. He is, finally, near. Coming back.
Growing up in the countryside in Brazil, I got a hold of a camera for the first time at age nine, after winning a contest at primary school. I took photos of everything and everyone. Unfortunately many of the rolls of film I went through were never developed. I still think of those never seen photographs. I am now a Melbourne based photographic artist and have been living in Australia for the past 13 years. My past projects have been autobiographical and have explored peculiarities of my migrant experience, liminality and identity. I am also interested in the notions of intimacy and the spectrum of personal relationships.