My Grandma Vanished. She passed away in May, after having contracted Covid-19 a month earlier. Almina, for everybody Mimma, was 85 and was living in a care home since quite a long time. Divorced in the '50s, very independent, creative, in her own way, she absolutely loved playing cards. Not being able to be close to her, due to the virus, made her passing away a very strange experience, which this project is trying to narrate. The physical distance imposed by the situation created a real sense of detachment. Sometimes it feels like it never happened, like she just vanished. So this project tries to explore absence through recovered presence, through an intimate investigation that started from objects as a way of regaining possession of a vanished memory without it being lived. Like a journey, it started with documenting physical belongings, the few I have left of her, shot almost forensically like "evidences", tangible proof that she actually existed. She had this one photo album with her, where she collected photos throughout the years, which together with other archival images have become the means to no longer seek the presence in material things, but rather in memories. The underpass where she used to drive back and forth to make me feel like on a roller coaster, the elevator of her old house-my only recurring dream ever, Oleanders. These memories are blurred, out of focus, ephemeral, sometimes they are just feelings, or they reminded me of something else. At the end an observation of the present, the real family legacy, what's really left of my grandmother in who we are, our habits, my mother.