At the basis of filmmaking there is a relation, such as the one of the anthropologists with their participants, or with a space, or with a time. The first way to acknowledge these relations is not through language, but through the body, and thus, the five senses.

If filmmaking is a way to investigate, the camera becomes an additional organ. But why this organ is only entitled to see, and not to acknowledge and transmit the sensation registered by other senses? Why can’t the film be itself a messenger of sensations?

For these reasons, I wanted my symbolic camera to be audible, have a good and evocative smell, and an interesting texture. But most importantly – and most difficultly - I wanted it to be edible

Moreover, an edible camera would have symbolized the relevance that food, in the forms cooking and sharing, has in my life. The lunch table has always been the centre of “home” in my family: it is where the family gathers, where discussions, laugh and storytelling take place. In this regard, I have always been fascinated by how food represents people’s identities and life stories.  My grandma (             ), for instance, cooks daily Italian and Belgian food. My Belgian aunt in-laws, instead, since she got married, cooks more often Italian dishes than Belgian. A few months after my great-grandma arrived in Belgium when she still did not know the language, she hated the butter and jam toast she was given for breakfast; nowadays that is the only thing she eats in the morning. Besides, since I moved to England, my tastes have changed: dishes I used to disregard at home (such as broccoli or soups) became my comfort food because they reminded me of the gathering around the lunch table.

Food and migration, I thought, should have then a tight connection, and I aimed to investigate it. Unfortunately, due to the pandemic, I could not analyze this relation the way I hoped to when I built my camera. However, I tried to internalize these concepts and introduced them in “Stay Home”.