A photographic farewell to the place that once was my home.
Room #7 above a busy downtown cafe — my personal sanctuary and a healing space — used to be a design studio buzzing with creative energy. I felt compelled to maintain that legacy.
The walls were worn down by previous occupants, and pierced with holes and stuck nails throughout and all over. To cover up the abuse and restore some of the interior's dignity, I put up a lot of art (mine, respected friends', or world renowned artists').
Most of the art featured animals, and they spread out and multiplied. Within a year, the room became a jungle abundant with painted, etched, sketched, crocheted and photographed fauna, to whom my live and beloved Sophie Rosie Cat ruled like the true feline queen.
The place was never clean enough, never tidy. Always too many objects, clothes, never enough light and plants. In the final months, however, I was sharing the room with 17 house plants. Still not enough. I developed a high level of intimacy with these organisms, spending hours and days watching them grow, caring for them, planting and replanting and transplanting. Some of them couldn't bear such intense relationship with me and died after a few months. Out of the seven or eight Aloe Veras I brought in, none of them made it out alive.
On the last day clean up, all my cameras were already gone, so I snapped these with a phone.