The images diffused by the media that tell the phenomenon of the great international migrations don’t shock us anymore. The redundancy of these images are now reduced to a visual background so monotonous as to be no longer noticeable. Even at the foot of the lighthouse there is no light. As Georges Didi-Huberman wrote in one of the fundamental writings on the philosophy of images "destroying and multiplying are the two ways of rendering an image invisible: with nothing and with too much."

It's the new law of not seeing.


From these reflections arises Where is my brother? and the choice to not show even one face from the millions of refugees who have come to Europe in recent years, as not to exclude anyone. Instead it was decided to reveal what unites us and not what divides us, belonging to one humanity, in an attempt to break down the ideological boundary between us and them. This sequence unites on one hand the ordinary nature of the objects and, on the other, the cold scientific nature of the identification protocols of the unnamed bodies. On one hand, the objects move us away from the idea of an us counterposed to the others. The forensic evidence of death, on the other, is what we are not subjected to every day. It is the side of the history of migration which we are almost never told: that of the thousands of victims buried without a name. Although we are all made of bones and biological tissues, at death we are not the same. Our graves with names. Theirs with numbers.