I made this portrait in honor of my maternal grandmother. Her name was Hilda, and she passed away at the age of 101.
My grandmother was a simple country woman, small in stature, a devout catholic, who had a long life marked by tragic events. She was an orphan and was raised by her grandmother and uncles, along with other cousins. There are many empty spaces in her life story that I always wanted to know, but could never fill it. Despite this, what she told me was enough to admire her.
I feel lucky because I grew up close to her. If you asked me as a child, I would choose to be with her. After all, the food I liked most was the one she made, coffee and also fishing, going to church. I remember the amazement and curiosity with which I listened to the stories she told, some of which were quite frightening, especially those relating to life on the farm.
When I was four or five years old, I tried to get to her house on my own. My family lived across from a busy street and, with all the autonomy I had at that age, I tried to cross and was hit by a motorbike. I have a scar on my knee as a reminder of that day.
I keep one of the most emblematic phrases I heard from her, when I visited her after many years living in another state. Already having trouble getting around without help, she tearfully told me that “it was really bad getting old”. I understand my dear grandmother's lament, as she was an active, hard-working and fighting woman who at that time was facing a long battle for her health.
It's been a few years since she's been gone, but her memory remains, along with the affection and gratitude for everything she did for me.
