The hands that build me2022
My grandfather was born in Andalusia in March 1944, and he had to deal with the results of the war and the impositions of the Franco's regime.
They were a large family and poor at the time, and as my grandfather recalls, he and his brothers spent years searching for food in the containers.
When he turned 17, Gibraltar closed its doors and work opportunities vanished, leaving him with little choice but to pack a suitcase with his belongings and travel alone to Barcelona in pursuit of a better life.
He settled in the outskirts of a village and built his house, which is now mine.
My grandmother stays at home letting the hours go by, but he needs to move and live until his legs won't let him.
My grandmother sits at home, wasting time, but he needs to get out there and live till his legs give out.
It's something I think about a lot: how the work of my parents, grandparents, and so on has allowed me to have a full life now. I owe everything I have and am to those who wake up early, work long hours in the hot heat, or give their all to help others.
To them, who have sacrificed everything.
I did this project 2 years ago. And a lot has changed since then. Now I go back home just for christmas. He doesn’t own the red car that used to pick me up from school, he cannot drive it anymore. And now a stick is not enough for him to be able to change clothes, que need help to even stand up from the sofa. I can just be glad, I went with him those days to his garden, to have a little piece of the man who once was, who gave me everything and still does his best to keep doing so.