We responded to the prompt:
“What does home mean to you?”
The idea of home is a very particular moment, extremely specific; ephemeral, even. It's a ray of light, the way the floor creaks, the smell of grass (which is not the same in the morning as in the afternoon), it’s the smell of plastic, it’s a momentary chill, the infinitesimal particle of a hug. Home is ice that is always melting but that will never, no matter how much we insist, disappear.
Pablo Íñigo Argüelles
La idea de casa es un momento muy particular, extremadamente específico; efímero, incluso. Es un rayo de luz, la forma en que cruje el piso, el olor del pasto (que no es igual por la mañana que en la tarde), es olor a plástico, es un frío momentáneo, la partícula infinitesimal de un abrazo. Casa es un hielo siempre derritiéndose, pero que nunca, por más que insistamos, desaparecerá.
When I think about home I think about all my houses that became a home. I think about the people that made me feel home. It is something in between nostalgia and certainty of who I am. It is going back to my roots and coming back grounded. It is the sunset at the beach, an empty rope at a summer backyard, a blue door of a greenhouse. It is a safe place where I go no matter where I am.
Flor Crosta
Cuando pienso en hogar, pienso en todas las casas que se convirtieron en mi hogar. Pienso en las personas que me hicieron sentir en casa. Es algo entre nostalgia y certeza de quién soy, es ir a mis raíces para volver más firme. Es un atardecer en la playa, la cuerda de ropa vacía en un patio de verano, es la puerta azul al invernadero. Es un lugar seguro al que voy sin importar donde esté.
I have always associated the idea of home with a series of memories that appear in my mind like scenes from a confusing movie, full of moments as real as they are distant, suspended between reality and memory. Home, for me, is the smell of damp wood in my grandfather's canteen, the sound of the gate every time my Nanny opens it, the taste of a slice of bread with a chocolate bar; something that exists only somewhere between memory and what remains intact.
María Prieto
Siempre he asociado la idea de casa con una serie de recuerdos que aparecen en mi mente como escenas de una película confusa, llena de momentos tan reales como lejanos, suspendidos entre la realidad y la memoria. Casa, para mí, es el olor a madera húmeda en la cantina de mi abuelo, el sonido del zaguán cada vez que mi Nana lo abría, el sabor de una rebanada de pan con una barra de chocolate; algo que existe solamente en algún lugar entre la memoria y lo que permanece intacto.
Comfort. Feeling safe enough to be able to lose myself in my imagination. Being protected and held by a space or by someone. Home, for me, is a state caused by a place; or by a person.
Victoria Manzoli
Lar/Home
Aconchego. Me sentir segura para poder me perder em imaginação. Estar guardada pelo espaço ou por uma pessoa. Lar, para mim, é um estado provocado por um lugar; ou por alguém.
Where is home? What does home mean? I’m not entirely sure, as my sense of home is always shifting – it moves and reshapes itself. Yet, when I’m far from my native land, I realize that home still lingers in my memory, in the smallest details. It’s the color of the trees, the taste of my grandfather’s homegrown grapes – in Denmark.
Ceilie Mengel
Hvor er hjem? Hvad betyder hjem? Jeg ved det ikke med sikkerhed, for min følelse af hjem er i konstant forandring – det bevæger sig og ændrer form. Men når jeg er langt væk fra mit fødeland, indser jeg, at hjem alligevel gemmer sig i min hukommelse, i de små ting. Det er farven på træerne, smagen af min morfars hjemmedyrkede vindruer – i Danmark.
For me, home is more than a physical place; it is an emotional refuge where I feel comfortable and loved. I find that sense of belonging in the people around me. The portraits I create of the people I choose to have in my life, are the true representations of my home.
Zoila Molina
Para mí, el hogar es más que un lugar físico; es un refugio emocional donde me siento cómoda y querida. Encuentro ese sentido de pertenencia en las personas que me rodean. Los retratos que hago de las personas que elijo tener en mi vida, son las verdaderas representaciones de mi hogar.
Home for me is ever-unfolding. It is as cyclical as it is a back-n-forth, a justice scale, a balance. A mix of the urban and the natural environment. I take comfort in knowing they are both there, ideally entangled. For me, both are a refuge to the other. An oasis for inspiration, of Beauty, the divine, and instinctive happenings. There are metaphors I would never think to articulate if the urban randomness did not collide two objects together in front of me. Like synapses connecting in my brain, an “ah-hah” moment. Yet, without the strongholds of nature, I would never understand perspective and the power of forces beyond my control.
Home, for me, is the delicate tension and fluctuation between the urban and the natural environment.
Raine Roberts
For a long time, I couldn’t put into words what “home” meant to me. Growing up on an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean felt like a weight I couldn’t shake. I remember being a kid and feeling so far from what I imagined was the “real world”. What I remember most from my childhood is a profound desire to escape, a strong feeling that life abroad would be richer. So, one day, I left, searching for another “home”. A place where I would lack nothing. But soon, it was Nature and the wide, open horizon of my island that I missed. It was the smell of the ground after the rain that I longed for. And that is when I understood.
Home is made of the memories that tie us to the joy of childhood. It’s the colors we carry in our eyes’ memory, the familiar scents that pull us back, even when we are thousands of miles away. For me, home will always live in my memories and I find that feeling again whenever I connect with nature.
Roxane Moreau
For me, home is one of three things: a physical body; for example, the house I grew up in, that my family built one room at a time - a piece of land that became an ‘island’. Ghost Lamps, by which I mean the experience of instinctively knowing where to put one foot after the other in the dark without bumping into anything on your way to bed. And lastly, whenever my late father’s unexpected presence provides company in a moment I know I should consider for its beauty or splendour.
Capsule is a photograph I took of the interior of the caravan I lived in while I looked after my father for a year and a half - but in its transient state of repurpose earlier this year. Landing is of the rugs from within that caravan, but outside. This image represents the surreality and disorientation of that time - when I lost grip of my Ghost Lamps. Finally, Rugs was taken as a response to finding unexpected company in the Alps, 600 miles from the ‘island’.
Emile Kees
Home, to me, is where reality and memory overlap, just like in this blurred, dreamlike image. The distorted house reflects how home isn’t always a perfect structure—it’s a place shaped by emotions, experiences, and time. The movement in the image suggests that home is fluid, evolving as we grow, yet always retaining echoes of where we come from. The faint reflection at the bottom hints at how our perception of home is often layered—part real, part remembered. Ultimately, home isn’t just a place but a feeling: a mix of comfort, change, and belonging, no matter how hazy it becomes.
Federico Rabinovich
Hogar para mi, es donde la realidad y la memoria se superponen, como en esta imagen borrosa. La casa distorsionada refleja que el hogar no siempre es una estructura perfecta, sino un lugar moldeado por emociones, experiencias y el paso del tiempo. El movimiento en la imagen sugiere que el hogar fluye, que evoluciona a medida que crecemos, pero siempre conserva ecos de nuestro origen. La tenue reflexión en la parte inferior insinúa que nuestra percepción del hogar es a menudo estratificada: parte real, parte recordada. En última instancia, el hogar no es solo un lugar, sino un sentimiento: una mezcla de comodidad, cambio y pertenencia, sin importar lo difuso que se vuelva.
The concept of home is something I redefine every day. A big part of who I am today is being a migrant and for me that means having more than one home. For eight years I have considered being in transit and in this time I found places and, above all, people who made my home expand outside the limits of my house, my beloved city Buenos Aires and my country, Argentina.
Nowadays the concept for me is very linked to nostalgia. Home is a sensation, a warm memory but also, as a migrant, home is identity and idiosyncrasy. Photography and nostalgia have always appeared to me as one. The images that most reflect this feeling in me are those that freeze a feeling of home, a past feeling, the feeling of missing something you cannot return to.. These photos reflect that: a shadow in a super special house for me that saw me grow up with my friends who are now my sisters, a grill assembled with elements at hand that reflects so well the Argentine idiosyncrasy and the hand of my architect father resting on her own construction site which is also someone else's future home.
Ana Aizer
El concepto de hogar es algo que redefino todos los días. Gran parte de quien soy hoy es ser migrante y para mí eso implica tener más de un hogar. Hace ocho años que considero estar en tránsito y en este tiempo encontré lugares y, por sobre todo, personas que hicieron que mi hogar se expandiera por fuera de los límites de mi casa, de mi ciudad tan adorada Buenos Aires y de mi país, Argentina.
Hoy en día el concepto para mí está muy ligado a la nostalgia. El hogar es una sensación, un recuerdo cálido pero también, como migrante, el hogar es identidad e idiosincrasia. La fotografía y la nostalgia se me aparecen desde siempre como una sola. Las imágenes que más reflejan este sentimiento en mi son aquellas que congelan una sensación de hogar, un sentimiento pasado, un extrañar aquello a lo que no se puede volver. Estas fotos reflejan eso: una sombra en una casa super especial para mí que me vio crecer junto a mis amigas que hoy son mis hermanas, una parrilla armada con elementos a la mano que refleja tan bien la idiosincrasia argentina y la mano de mi papá arquitecto apoyada sobre su propia obra en construcción que además es el futuro hogar de alguien más.