Catalina Otegui
Buenos Aires, Argentina
To embrace a memory: to dress it in a fur coat, to seat it on a velvet armchair.
These photographs are not only a memory, but a scene that frames my grandmother in her greatest splendor.
My grandmother Mimi was 92 years old. She played La Cumparsita on the piano and the great love of her life was Juanita, her dog. Arriving at her house meant hearing Los Palmeras blasting from somewhere in the house, cumbia echoing through the hallway; it meant opening the fridge and always finding a Fanta. A strange perfume, already expired, pink blush spread all over her cheeks.
I took these photographs in August 2025, without knowing it would be one of the last times I would see her. Two months later she passed away, and in some way the photographs immortalized who she was in her home.
Mimi always understood everything as a stage set. She loved sparkle and the details that transform the ordinary into something extraordinary. There always had to be a detail in everything. There was in her a way of inhabiting the world around her that blended fantasy and humor into a unique sensitivity. Every day I try to capture that spirit.
I hear Olvídala playing at the end of the hallway. A beige carpeted floor. Her house freezes in time a memory that sits just around the corner from Avenida Santa Fe: something that always remained unfinished, something that always stays there.
What Color is Fantasy?
How does your personal history intertwine with photography?
Throughout my life I was always close to photography, but from a different place, as a viewer. My father, who has been a photographer his entire life, is deeply passionate about what he does and dedicated many years to photography. When we were kids, he constantly took photos of us; in a way, we were the models for his own concepts. I was always a very curious observer, interested in watching what he did and how he did it.
Later, while finishing my degree in fashion design, I began to participate in and work on productions. I loved seeing the final result, but I was always involved from the styling side. I think my story begins with a still eye—observing photography from the outside, admiring it, and then, at some point, daring to understand how all the technical aspects behind photography worked. Once I started getting into that world, I completely fell in love with it.
Photography is part of my personal story. I love that it’s something I can share with my father: I show him my photos and we talk about them. That’s something very special that we have.
Absolutely. I’m very interested in thinking through an image. I believe it’s truly a gift to be walking down the street and be able to photograph a spontaneous composition, but personally I enjoy imagining a scene, creating a character, and then executing it.
In the case of my grandmother, she wasn’t a character I staged; she was captured in her purest essence. I like the idea of shaping and personifying a concept, but with analog photography, for example, I enjoy finding those moments rather than constructing them.
Super. Me interesa mucho pensar una foto. Creo que es verdaderamente un tesoro estar caminando por la calle y poder fotografiar una composición, pero a mí en lo personal me gusta pensar una escena, un personaje y poder ejecutarlo. En el caso de mi abuela no fue un personaje que yo cree en escena sino que en realidad ella fue capturada en su mejor esencia. Me gusta la idea de poder darle forma y personificar un concepto, pero por ejemplo con la fotografía analógica me gusta encontrar esos momentos para fotografíar.
Which are the places, people, sensations, objects where you find your inspiration?
I really enjoy working with irony. I like turning an image into something ironic while still finding something romantic within it. As if a photograph were a joke, but at the same time not a joke. I think that comes from my own personality and sense of humor, being able to translate that essence into photography.
I like finding humor in everyday spaces: a mural with a funny phrase, a character in the neighborhood of Once, my grandmother in this project. Finding the joke in daily life.
Your project has a strong performative and playful presence, but also a deep sense of intimacy. What does that connection represent for you?
The word intimacy is very beautiful. In a way, though, what I wanted to portray was discomfort. There is a strong taboo around aging and around women’s bodies, especially when they become vulnerable. Once again, I use irony to generate discomfort through an excess of intimacy.
The smeared makeup, the bruised legs, showing something grotesque as well, we are looking at a body that is not the one we usually see on social media, and that body is being used on its own terms, for the pure pleasure of being portrayed. In the photographs, my grandmother looks very relaxed. There is a sense of trust in putting that body on display and using it in her own way.
The intimacy comes from the fact that it is her body being shown in a public context. I like to play with that discomfort.
When we took the photos, I gave her no instructions on how to dress or do her makeup. I told her to do whatever she wanted, and that’s how the images came out. The broken eyeliner, the blush up to the eyes, it’s very interesting visually.
Something very intense about these photos, which I don’t talk about much, is that I took them in July, and in August of that same year my grandmother passed away. In that sense, these photographs became extremely important to me. They helped me realize what kind of artistic path I wanted to follow, and at the same time they became a tribute to my grandmother, although I didn’t consciously realize at the time that I was paying homage to her. I began my artistic journey in photography through an act of homage.
Open question: between personal path and the search for community
I think my artistic path is deeply connected to my family history, from admiring my father, to the colleagues I worked with through styling, to never imagining that I would actually pursue photography myself. When I truly entered that process, it felt very meaningful to begin with such a strong project as the one with my grandmother, who is also my father’s mother.
It was interesting because it also created some tension within my family: the images I made and my aesthetic vision were very different from my father’s. At the beginning, there was a clash in the way we approached photography. He has always been very methodical, reading, practicing, studying, while I tend to jump straight into making images.
With more experience today, I might have photographed my grandmother differently, but at that moment the images came out the way they did, and they turned out beautifully.
I feel that this year was about planting seeds, laying the foundations of my artistic career and identifying that moment as one of nostalgia, of wanting to honor my grandmother. Humor and irony emerge from that nostalgia, which is a feeling I return to often.
At the same time, looking toward the artistic community here, the idea of the archive and the opportunities it offers, being able to build a shared space from that point—is something that really interests me. I find it very inspiring to see how other people, from different perspectives, dedicate their lives to a single artistic practice. What I find most beautiful about engaging with other people’s art is recognizing, within each work, a reflection of their essence—their personality and lived experience.
There is also a kind of intimacy in publishing a work. A small part of yourself goes with that photograph, that painting, that garment. Seeing that piece materialized in a space—imagining it in a gallery or exhibition, and feeling the collective strength of different works coming together feels incredibly powerful.
Creating spaces to exhibit what unites us
Current exhibit.
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