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January 13th to January 22nd , 2023

Exhibition view. Photography: Bruno Lopes


Susana Rocha


Susana Rocha

On January 22nd, 2022 I have lost my Mother suddenly and unexpectedly, while spending a happy weekend at my home. All the funeral rituals that followed, of Catholic origin, were for me, a person devoid of any kind of religious faith, of extreme violence and voyeurism. The only ritual-moment of a strange beauty was born from the sight of a mountain of flowers (nearly two hundred bouquets) left over her grave, covering any sign of an earthly surface. “MOM, they made you a garden but it cannot be watered”, is an initial attempt to process the loss of my Mother through my work, in the hope of overcoming the first anniversary of this date, in a way more consistent with my nature.

“Nelinha”, 2023. Hair, satin ribbon, pin and envelope inside of a frame. 30x21cm My Mother's hair curl, at 2 years old - perhaps her only/last organic trace. Found carefully kept in an envelope, identified with my Grandfather's handwriting.

“All the things you will not see”, c. 2019. Corrective glasses. 3x13,5x1,5cm My Mother’s glasses. An element that evokes the memory of her face.

“Flowers and shadows”, 2022. Diasec with frame. 30x21 cm Photograph of my shadow projected over my Mother's grave, on the day of her funeral.

“Not even science”, c. 1985. Graduation ring. 30x21 cm My Mother’s graduation ring, composed of snakes wrapped around a staff of Aesculapius (symbolizing Medicine) and a broken yellow topaz. She used it daily.

“Eco Su (you around me)” / “Eco Mica (you around my brother)”, 1987-1992. Ultrasound frames. 10x15cm (each) Ultrasound images captured during my Mother's pregnancies. “Eco Su” and “Eco Mica” designate the name of the videos from which the two images were taken, referencing the nicknames by which my Mother called us.

“Condolences cards”, 2022. Condolences cards and string. Variable dimensions. Some of the condolences cards that accompanied the flowers laid on my Mother's grave. Never read.

“They made you a garden but it cannot be watered”, 2023. Flowers and suspensions cords. Variable dimensions. A tribute. The last flowers I offer my Mother are also the ones I wasn’t capable of offering a year ago.


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