Elefante en la Habitación (Elephant in the room)

© María Fernanda Pérez - Image from the Elefante en la Habitación (Elephant in the room) photography project © María Fernanda Pérez - March 28th, 2000. The day I was born, my father wasn’t there. This is the proof. © María Fernanda Pérez - Image from the Elefante en la Habitación (Elephant in the room) photography project View all images ↓
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Elefante en la Habitación explores the normalization of paternal absence in Latin America. Through archives and self-portraiture, it investigates how silence and abandonment shape our identity, turning a personal wound into a collective story.

What happens when a father’s absence becomes the norm? 

How can I carry feelings for someone who was never truly there?

I started this project two years ago, after reuniting with my paternal grandparents following ten years of no contact. Standing outside their door, I was nervous, unsure of what I’d find. I thought I might see my father too, but he wasn’t there. My grandmother told me he had moved to Colombia, and I felt relieved; I wasn’t ready to confront him.

The last time I saw my dad, I was 13. He promised he would change, that he would call more, but he never did. I buried the pain and convinced myself it didn’t affect me. It was easy to pretend, especially when no one in my family talks about him. However, as I began visiting my grandparents, something started to ache. My father was present even in his absence: in objects, in silences, and in old photographs. One day, while going through an album, I saw a picture of him holding me as a baby. I stared at the image and thought, “How dare you.” How dare you hold me like that and then leave. He hugged me as a child, but never as an adult.

In Latin America, the figure of the absent father is a frequent, almost expected circumstance. Mexico has over 30% of children in single-parent households (INEGI, 2020), while in Colombia, nearly 40% of homes are headed by women (World Bank, 2023). In Venezuela, the number is likely higher due to the forced migration of nearly 7.9 million people (IOM, 2023). This absence is normalized, yet we rarely delve into how it shapes those who were abandoned.

My practice combines the reconstruction of memory with the interplay between past and present through family archives, self-portraits, and the documentation of significant objects. Adopting an autoethnographic approach, I start from my personal history to explore a collective experience and name a common wound that has been silenced in both family and social discourses.

For years, I believed my father’s absence didn’t hurt. Photography, however, began to reveal what I had refused to recognize. The images I produced almost unconsciously evidenced a void that I had ignored for 25 years. 

Elefante en la Habitación is not just a personal project, but a shared story. It invites others to reflect on the emotional inheritance of abandonment and how silence can shape entire lives.

© María Fernanda Pérez - Image from the Elefante en la Habitación (Elephant in the room) photography project
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My dad’s face is covered in plastic, making him unrecognizable. The image captures the emotional tension I feel when looking at photos where he once showed affection toward me. It becomes hard to breathe when I encounter traces of a love that no longer exists.

© María Fernanda Pérez - March 28th, 2000. The day I was born, my father wasn’t there. This is the proof.
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March 28th, 2000. The day I was born, my father wasn’t there. This is the proof.

© María Fernanda Pérez - Image from the Elefante en la Habitación (Elephant in the room) photography project
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Left: A self-portrait taken in my father’s childhood bedroom. For years, I only looked at his room from a distance. Photographing myself there felt like a small but profound victory. Right: From the family archive, a portrait of my father as a child. His gaze feels gentle, innocent. I like to think he was different then, before becoming the man who would one day leave.

© María Fernanda Pérez - Image from the Elefante en la Habitación (Elephant in the room) photography project
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Letter I wrote to my father and never sent. When I began to realize how much internal pain I had been carrying without knowing. I wrote it in Spanish, my native language. It was about the pain of his abandonment and my longing to recover the memories I lost. Later, I tore it up, because reading it brought up emotions I couldn’t fully understand.

© María Fernanda Pérez - Image from the Elefante en la Habitación (Elephant in the room) photography project
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Image of my sister Ana, wearing my father’s old rally suit that had been left behind at my grandparents’ house. I took this photo of my sister while she was visibly affected, as the suit fit her perfectly. It made us wonder how tall our father is, since we really don’t know anything about him.

© María Fernanda Pérez - Photo of my parents, suggesting their separation and the fact that there was never any reconciliation.
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Photo of my parents, suggesting their separation and the fact that there was never any reconciliation.

© María Fernanda Pérez - A portrait of my father lying on my mom's bed, back when they were dating.
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A portrait of my father lying on my mom's bed, back when they were dating.

© María Fernanda Pérez - Image from the Elefante en la Habitación (Elephant in the room) photography project
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A photo of my father and me. I removed his figure and digitally incorporated Spanish words like “ausencia” (absence) and “distancia” (distance) to form part of his silhouette, suggesting that even in this image, where he’s hugging me, he was never truly present.

Elefante en la Habitación (Elephant in the room) by María Fernanda Pérez

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