Manoel Ribas, 843 

One of the first Modernist houses built in Curitiba.
I was born there. 

Today that part of Manoel Ribas Street is busy with traffic, and it has only a handful of residential buildings left. But it wasn’t always like that. The cobbled winding street which linked the core centre of Curitiba to Santa Felicidade, the Italian neighbourhood, was once a peaceful place and, perhaps, idyllic. 

My mom and dad were just 16 and 21 when they had me. We lived in a converted 2 bedroom flat in the basement of my dad's parents for about 2 years, we moved out to the countryside soon after my sister was born. When we came back to Curitiba, my grandparents' house was the centre of gravity of our family.

As a child, we used to have breakfast there before school. Not to mention the countless sleepovers and weekends that were spent exploring all nooks and crannies of the house. Later, as a teenager, it also became my stopover for lunch when I walked back home from school. And then again, as an adult, reading the paper and having a coffee with my grandparents was my morning routine.

It was a huge house for a couple of octogenarians who struggled to keep up with the maintenance, as the years passed, the house became dilapidated beyond repair. My Nonna Zaide became a widow in 2000, and the situation turned to worse. 

For me it’s hard to talk about that house without thinking about my Nonna. She embodies the spirit of that place and vice-versa. Zaide was a packrat, often grumpy, constantly making jokes, with lots of stories to tell. Like that house, in my eyes she too was beautiful, her patina, her cracks, her clutter and quirks, her grandiose that left its marks but has gone with the age. 

In 2004 all my family had moved out of the country, it was just me and her in Curitiba. I needed to save money and she needed company. We were always very close and felt needed for each other. I moved in, permanently. I lived with her until I got married in 2009. In 2012 I left Brazil for London.

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On my first trip back home in 2013, I spent a few days alone with my Nonna. During those two days and nights I hardly left the house. I don’t know why, I guess I just wanted to be there. 

I decided to do what I always loved to do, wandering around, exploring, opening every door, every box, smelling everything, and having fun discovering things I have never seen before, or haven’t seen in decades.

These photos are my way of recording a memory of a house that I loved so much, with its cracks, its clutter, its quirks, its patina that perhaps I too one day will have on me.