Piccoli Baci (Little Kisses) by Quetzal Maucci
Issue 175
In western society, there is a constructed image of the perfect family. A mother, a father, and a house with a white picket fence. A family structure that I never knew.
A family album was once physical and curated by the family. We would subconsciously and consciously edit, remove, and decide which photographs were best to present in our albums. I am curious about the photographs we do not include. The ones that were cast aside, ripped, and sealed in a box. I am curious about those photographs and stories that are still a part of who we are and a part of our personal memory, and yet cannot live in the ideal family album.
Piccoli Baci (Little Kisses) is a photographic exploration of my constrained relationship to my father who I did not meet until I was 23 years old. Growing up in California, I received letters in Italian and tried to imagine the man behind the words. Words I barely understood. I never knew that one day I would confront him.
We are all part of complicated family structures that transform over time. My story is intertwined not only within my nuclear family, but within the parts that are unseen. Through the work, I face my own suppressed memories in order to unfold complex emotions and explore notions of belonging, identity, family, and memory.
This project combines family photographs, writing, collected keepsakes, intervention photographs, and my own photographs from our first encounter. The project is guided by letters that I wrote directly to my father.
Quetzal Maucci (she/her) lives and works in London, United Kingdom.
www.quetzalmaucci.com | @quetzalitaa
I have very few photographs
from when you and my mother
were together.
Her memories of you
are faint and distant.
She used to say my hands
are like your hands:
long and thin,
and fit to play the piano.
And when I speak
my hands try to speak for me
just like yours.
Are they like yours?
Can I be like you when I did not grow up
seeing the way your hands speak for you?
Can I be like you when I did not grow up
hearing how delicate you are with your words?
Can I be like you when I did not grow up
learning how tender you are with the world around you?
"Bologna 15.06.2003
My Sweet Quetzal,
I strongly regret that I am writing to you after so long. I know that I should be next to you, cuddling you, participating in your growth, and helping educate you. Your mom is splendidly unique. By herself she tries to carry out her role of being a mother as well as carrying out the role I should fulfill. You are already a teenager who can understand that now. Unfortunately, I have been really absent physically and by phone and letter. Because of this, I am asking you to forgive me. I will try to remedy this in the future. But I have been, in my defense, caught up by my health problems and my partner’s. But I assure you that you have always been present in my thoughts and in my heart. Quetzal, I assure you that not a day goes by that I do not think of you and I keep you in my heart. I love you and mom. See you soon.
-Dad"
"December 2000/2001
My Little Big Love,
I am so sorry that I wasn’t able to see you or hear you as often as I would have liked to. However, I had you always present in my heart and in my thoughts. I heard that you are doing well in school and that you behave well. This makes me feel proud of you. My beloved little heart, we will be able to see each other and hug each other only after the 20th of January, so then I can give you my Christmas present. I can’t wait for that moment to come. For now, I wish you a Happy Christmas and a Happy and Serene New Year. I think about you with all my love. I love you very much.
P.S. Kisses, Little Kisses, Big Kisses
-Father"
You have always been there, in the back of my mind.,
Suppressed under layers of
dust
and time.
What is a father anyway?
I look for you in the faces of others.
"Christmas 2004
To my loved Quetzal and her mother,
Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to keep my promise to call you guys as frequently as I wanted. My health problems and then my professional issues completely absorbed me even though my heart and my thoughts never forgot you. My sweet baby Quetzal (almost a teenager), your dad is always close to you. I really want to see you and hug you. I hope to see you as soon as possible and stay with you and your mom. I know that you are really good and really, really beautiful. Your dad has resolved his health problems and soon he will be able to resolve even the professional one. I wish you and your mom a serene, tranquil, and happy Christmas and a splendid new year. I will think about you during the Holy Christmas.
I LOVE YOU VERY, VERY, VERY MUCH.
-Father
P.S. A present will follow for my baby"
It took 24 years to finally meet you.
On a summer day,
you were waiting
for me and my mother
at the exit of an airport in Italy.
My heart beat loudly.
My mother’s heart beat loudly.
She was also meeting you
after many, many years.
When I was a child, I used to wonder
what you would think of me
if we finally came face to face.
I was trying to grasp
onto something
that didn’t exist.
A stability I never knew.
"Today I met my father after 23 years. I last saw him when I was three or four. I was very emotional when I got to the exit knowing I would see him there and we would finally understand that the other exists. June 8, 2016"
The day we finally met,
I saw myself in you.
That scared me the most.
It was hard to see
you cry on the chest
of my mother
wearing the tie she gave
you so many years ago.
Maybe one day
we will meet again
where the earth crumbles
into the sea.
Where we cannot
hide anymore.