Holland, The Hague, a few years ago. In Populierendreef 898 there is a house with a large window. When I arrive, I see my grandad’s gray curls from afar, leaning over the kitchen sink while peeling potatoes for dinner. My grandma is always the first to rush our to greet us, looking as if she had spent the last century waiting for me and my dad to fly over from Italy. The eerie beauty of Dutch summers. A bright sky with sunsets that never come, black ravens with velvet feathers, joyful yet mournful melodies of distant gothic towers, glass teapots and worn board games, dense sunless forest paths and canals with thick dark waters, long white radiators, drinking milk at dinner, black filter coffee moaning in the morning, my grandma’s nightgown, my grandad’s chessboard. Holland, The Hague, last year. I went back to Populierendreed 898 with my dad, to bid farewell to my grandparent’s empty house, together. The large window is now hidden by the flamboyant vegetation, no one welcomes us, the house is a silent shell. Nothing changes anymore where everything has changed, the time of the clocks marks the numbers of another dimension in which we cannot access. Not yet. In every room the uncanny stillness of a long uninhabited house. My eyes cloud over, my memory overlapping past images with the present vision, and it is all blurred by painful nostalgia. I am glad I have my camera with me. My father moves cautiously, I am aware that his heart is in precarious balance with his memories, he takes careful steps to avoid tripping over his childhood memories. I am beside him, keeping a small distance, knowing that his farewell is different from mine. We are together in his room, and I look at his gray hair, and I look at him looking out of the window, at his window, and as the house stays still, my dad looks at me. Memories are a heavy burden, because they are the ones that weigh the most and crush the ribs and crush the throat. Me and my dad where both drowning in the dark waves of the North Sea. At some point, we stopped breathing. Catharsis. The sea subsides, and we find ourselves on the shore to reopen our salt-encrusted eyes, hair full of gray sand. Light hearted, together. Evenwicht. Balance, Equilibrium. An instant of total awareness of each others grief. Parting from something is a violent moment necessary to reach an harmonic inner balance. Or Evenlicht. A moment of light. We weigh the same, in grief. And we share the light, a moment of light, in the sharing od thoughts lightened and enlightened by our mutual presence. This is a project about the inner balance one can find by sharing grief. Loss is the most natural and at the same time incomprehensible concept for a human being. Sharing it makes it real. And makes it bearable.