I explored the lives and homes of families, specifically their attics, cellars, warehouses and basements, those places where objects of a lifetime are stored, boxes and memories to be protected and treasured as if they were precious rarities. On each object touched, there remains the imprint of a personal and universal story that speaks to us of daily affections, of the faces and voices that have accompanied us. Objects as the first inhabitants of the house, the legacies of the families who lived there, as if they had been there for centuries, at the limits of time and space, faded by the passing of the years. Like an archaeologist of the past, with speleological attention I searched for and photographed these objects, giving them an almost sacred dignity that makes them emerge from the shadow in which they have been relegated. In the chaos and fullness of these spaces, I put my attention to the voids, where something was missing, where there was I looked for what is not there, where the objects themselves decide to stop as if to escape their nature of silent witnesses. So let's forget that we are in places where the acceleration in consumption celebrates itself and we look at these elements that invite us to listen, to interpret the signs as if they were artifacts, going against the rapid and frenetic flow of our present. Too important to be thrown away, but not enough to persist in everyday life, these sentinels of memory find their place in these marginal territories, which from simple deposits become living matter, where memory does not appear frozen but organic space. Objects like monoliths in the earth, silent and weightless, become archives of memory and images are historical documents of everyday life: a domestic archeology made up of stories asleep in their form as evidence of a human life that can still be saved.