Thirty-five years ago my father disappeared forever. The last time I saw him was at the Mexico City airport in August 1978, when he was boarding a plane to Rio de Janeiro. There’s a photograph of that day, but I don’t remember the precise moment, the conversation, the farewell embrace. Without the photograph, that day would not exist in my memory.
In 1978, my father, an active member of the Montoneros political organization, was kidnapped in a military operation in Brazil. Since then I had known nothing of him. He had become a ghost.
A short time ago I recovered my childhood diary. I didn’t remember writing it, but the handwriting was mine and those were my words. I began to write the diary two months before my father´s fatal journey. When he disappeared. I stopped writing. Its pages remained mostly blank with an occasional doodle or cross.
The diary was possibly a way to recapture all I was about to lose. But I had forgotten what was written there. Through those diaries. memories emerged. I began to recollect that which was forgotten,
Conversations with my mother and others who were close to my father to understand who he was; a trip to Mexico to visit the places we shared; a journey to Rio de Janeiro to inquire into his fate.
Today I venture into those crevices where the forgotten resides, and I understand that memory is not only made of clear images, but also vague lights and shadows.
The (Im)possible Oblivion explores and ponders how one lives with that which is mostly lost, but where fragments, traces and clues remain.