I have been alone in my house for 12 weeks due to the pandemic. The days are the same, and no. There are hours that become minutes and minutes that become hours. The present seems eternal and at the same time, like everyone, I feel more vulnerable than ever.
My alarm no longer sounds very early and although the time doesn't matter because there is no place to go, the constant pressure to do remains. I buy from media the idea that you have to be productive to succeed and I’m full of activities because it’s better to do things to believe that everything goes faster, than to feel the constant fear and uncertainty.
I insist myself every day to live in the present, but rarely have success. My perception of time has changed as days go by and my need to control it has manifested itself. Photography becomes the anchor that forces me to look beyond the same four walls that sometimes feel like prision.