Sira Ayats

Naked memories


Sira Ayats



I have this thing with.. doors.

There is something about doors that appeals to me greatly. In the place where my first memories are born, there was one that is particularly special. I remember how my mother would decorate it and paint it with care, renovating it whenever the dregs of time would coat the wood with their opaque amnesia.

Maybe that is where my interest for doors and the mysterious fate that hides behind them until they are opened was born. Doors that welcome, doors that evoke, or doors that intimidate and threaten. Behind each one lies a space that is simultaneously identical and entirely its own. The door, as the Tao says, is the Not-being, the void that renders walls useful.

Although structurally speaking, for the most part, they are all similar, in some of them we may identify something different. They harbour an intention that makes of them a poetic space. They become a symbol of the people that they guard, telling us of their personalities and their character; each one enclosing a different meaning. Through the traces left behind by those that built them, they invite us to immerse ourselves in the observation of their lines, of their dimensions and of the style that characterises them.

Hay algo en las puertas que me atrae muchísimo. En el lugar donde nacen mis recuerdos había una particularmente especial. Recuerdo como mi madre la decoraba y pintaba con mimo, renovándola cuando el poso del tiempo velaba la madera con su opaca desmemoria.

Puede que ahí naciera mi interés por las puertas y por el misterioso sino que se esconde tras ellas hasta que se abren. La puerta que invita, la puerta que sugiere o la puerta que intimida y amenaza. Detrás de cada una hay un espacio que es el mismo y a la vez diferente. La puerta, como dice el Tao, es el No-ser, el vacío que da utilidad a las paredes.

Aunque estructuralmente, en su mayoría, son todas parecidas, en algunas se puede notar algo distinto. Tienen una intención detrás que las convierte en un espacio poético. Se vuelven un símbolo de las personas a las que protegen, hablándonos de sus personalidades y su carácter: envolviendo, cada una, un significado distinto. Con los vestigios de aquellos que las construyeron, nos invitan a sumergirnos en la observación de sus líneas, de su volumen y de la estética que las caracteriza.


I recognise these doors because when I come face to face with one of them, I am enraptured by the enigma, I disconnect from the context of my surroundings for a few instants, and I find myself playing at dreaming up impossible lives behind a bronze knocker or an aged doorknob.

It is this feeling that drives my longing to document them. An ongoing project that, at the same time as it feeds my curiosity, anchors me to the present moment every time that I find myself treading new streets in search of this so quotidian poetic symbol/everyday poetic symbol.

Reconozco estas puertas porqué cuando me encuentro con una de ellas, me absorbe el enigma, desconnecto del contexto por unos instantes, y me encuentro jugando a imaginar vidas imposibles tras una aldaba de bronce o un añejo picaporte.

Es esta sensación la que me lleva a querer documentarlas. Un proyecto en curso que al mismo tiempo que llena mi curiosidad, me ancla al momento presente cada vez que me encuentro recorriendo nuevas calles a la búsqueda de este símbolo poético tan cotidiano.

Do we know how to be in silence?
Agordo (Belluno, IT)

Sira Ayats
+34 665 029 457
Instagram: @siraayats

Within Sira’s work I see a photographer blessed with the nostalgic longing and sensibility of a poet. In her hands, the camera becomes an instrument capable of portraying introspection and contemplation in intimate detail; as if her soul, questing outwards through the lens, found its way into the images she crafts, making every picture also a portrait of her own gaze. There is an evident profound reverence towards her surroundings that is present throughout her work, highlighting the artistry of a photographer whose observant gaze, while inevitably personal, raises a mirror to our shared human spirit, for us to find the brightest and warmest of colours reflected there.

— Words by Luca M. Bergamin.