Behind the photographs I take, there is a memory and a context that may make sense only to me, or perhaps to a larger or smaller group of people with whom I share personal, social, or ideological connections. This shape my narratives in pursuit of the dream that some utopias embody: the longing for some form of freedom.

This memory and context speak not only about things that happened to me but also about things that today I think could have happened to me instead. Through what I experience now, whom I know, and what I desire in this present moment, my memory talks about what feels necessary in that past today. It´s a possibility without potentiality: scenarios that I feel could have happened but can no longer occur, except for the emotion itself, which is actually happening now.

This defines a true foundation of utopia, not the fantasy of any particular future or regret about what actually happened, but the capacity to feel today in order to imagine and move forward. In this context, photographs become evidence of these necessary pasts, making utopia to feel real in the present as a tool for living.

Every utopia carries within it a kind of urgency, just as every act of creation does. There is a need to imagine, and then a need to act, because making something feel real sometimes becomes the only possible choice. Perhaps Zygmunt Bauman lost faith in the possibility of utopia in the present world. But I still believe utopia is alive—in dreams, in memories, and in every act that dares to make something feel real.