This is an existential and specular photographic essay and, therefore, it’s quasi-biographical. The realistic features of animals are a personal and in-transmissible symbol of something in us that could go wrong. Go wrong or, so to speak, to dive into the sordid depths of (self) fiction. It’s a brief reflection on how space can be occupied by something completely ours (in its symbolic and seductively twisted existence) and, at the same time, be deprived of any human trait that might remind us of the idea of a portrait.