Acrylics on Canvas 30cm x 40cm 2026 TLDR; Acrylics on canvas, physical artwork included. I tried to paint my childhood home from memory and realized I could barely remember it anymore. The pixelation reflects that loss: disappearing neighborhoods, erased histories, gentrification, and the feeling that even the idea of “home” is slowly dissolving under the concrete logic of modern cities. . . . Detailed version: This work is deeply autobiographical. A while ago, while passing through Illia Boulevard in an Uber, I noticed the remains of what used to be the Seventh-day Adventist Church, now completely demolished to make way for what will probably become another “upgraded” concrete box identical to every new building in my city. It immediately reminded me of the old house in Barrio Providencia where I grew up, a traditional early 1900s home that eventually ended up in the hands of a bank, was auctioned off, demolished, and replaced by yet another generic apartment building. I lived there from birth until my late teens. Honestly, the house was kind of a mess lol, but it was the only idea of “home” I ever knew. There used to be orange trees, a lemon tree, even an avocado tree that had this strange aura around it. One day I checked Google Maps and realized not only that the house no longer existed, but that I could barely remember it anymore. I couldn’t remember the color of the door, the walls, or even the layout of the rooms. The image started breaking apart and becoming pixelated because my memories are broken too. Everything was erased in the name of cosmopolitan concrete modernity. The neighborhood is slowly turning into another gentrified area filled with specialty coffee shops and QR code menus, where every habitable space is planned around consumption. The piece reflects how entire neighborhoods are losing their history and becoming increasingly indistinguishable from one another. The pixelation doesn’t only represent bad memory, but absence itself: the absence of home, community, and emotional connection to the places we inhabit. There’s also a generational anxiety running through the work. The possibility of owning a home or building a stable life feels more distant than ever. Cities continue moving toward smaller, more expensive, and more impersonal spaces. What remains are fragmented memories and the feeling that even our personal histories can eventually disappear. Don’t let yourself get pixelated by the hostile cyberpunk reality we’re living in. Memory and history are some of the last things we still have left to protect.