Piccoli Baci

Piccoli Baci (Little Kisses) is an exploration of my constrained relationship to my father who I did not meet until I was 23 years old.

Piccoli Baci (Little Kisses) is an exploration of my constrained relationship to my father who I did not meet until I was 23 years old. My story is intertwined not only with the history of my nuclear family, but within the parts that are unseen. This project is seeking to unravel my relationship to my father while exploring ideology, family, memory, and identity.

In western society, we strive for a perfect family image, while subconsciously and consciously editing, deleting, and creating a visual of a family that does not exist. I am curious about the photographs we do not include in our albums. The ones we push to the side. The ones hiding in the background. The stories that are never told.

The project combines family photographs, poems, 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. Through the work, I face my own suppressed memories in order to unfold complex emotions and explore themes of absence, childhood, fatherlessness, and difficult family dynamics. I tackle feelings of meeting someone who is biologically a part of me, but who I know nothing about.

 

© Quetzal Maucci - Image from the Piccoli Baci photography project
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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?

© Quetzal Maucci - An old birthday card from my father from 2001. It reads: "For my baby with love. Your, Papi. 23.10.01"
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An old birthday card from my father from 2001. It reads: "For my baby with love. Your, Papi. 23.10.01"

© Quetzal Maucci - Image from the Piccoli Baci photography project
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I wonder where you are and what you might be doing. I wonder when the letters started and why they stopped. I wonder how my mother first spoke of you. How did she explain who you are to five-year-old me? Did I understand?

© Quetzal Maucci - Image from the Piccoli Baci photography project
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Letters that my father wrote to me throughout my childhood. Bottom letter reads: "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 by coming to San Francisco and staying 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 in the Holy Christmas. I LOVE YOU VERY, VERY, VERY MUCH. Papi P.S. A present will follow for my baby"

© Quetzal Maucci - Image from the Piccoli Baci photography project
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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.

© Quetzal Maucci - Image from the Piccoli Baci photography project
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Still, I don’t know you. I don’t know if I ever cared to know you. Maybe I am lying to myself. I tried to meet you, many moons ago, across oceans and several countries. I was 16 years old. I was staying at a hotel in Italy when I received a knock on my door. My heart beat and beat and beat. I opened the door to find the manager of the hotel with a fax that said you could not make it because your train broke down. Many years went past before we finally met.

© Quetzal Maucci - An old photograph my father sent in a letter.
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An old photograph my father sent in a letter.

© Quetzal Maucci - My father's business card. He wrote a note to me on the back: "For Quetzal, my beautiful heart. From, your father"
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My father's business card. He wrote a note to me on the back: "For Quetzal, my beautiful heart. From, your father"

© Quetzal Maucci - Image from the Piccoli Baci photography project
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An old letter from my father: "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, I know that you will depart to Brazil to celebrate Christmas, I hope you have a lot of fun together with your splendid mom. We will be able to see each other and hug each other only after the 20th of January in San Francisco, 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 Papi"

© Quetzal Maucci - Image from the Piccoli Baci photography project
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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. Now I wonder if you ever thought about what I would think of you if we finally came face to face. Still, I am afraid of who I will become if I get to know you.

© Quetzal Maucci - Image from the Piccoli Baci photography project
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This Best Western note is the only thing I wrote down when I was meeting my father for the first time. It reads: "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"

© Quetzal Maucci - The day we finally met, I saw myself in you. That scared me the most.
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The day we finally met, I saw myself in you. That scared me the most.

© Quetzal Maucci - Image from the Piccoli Baci photography project
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Top items are memories I kept from my first meeting with my father. Bottom items are memories that my mother kept from her years in Italy.

© Quetzal Maucci - Image from the Piccoli Baci photography project
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It was strange to see you and my mother together. It was strange to be held as if you knew me all along. It was hard to see you cry on the chest of my mother as if you were a child yourself.

© Quetzal Maucci - Maybe one day we will meet again where the earth crumbles into the sea. Where we cannot hide anymore.
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Maybe one day we will meet again where the earth crumbles into the sea. Where we cannot hide anymore.

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