Over the past ten years, Alex Llovet's work has developed around two central themes: identity and memory. Using the photobook to conceptualise and present projects increasingly focused on his immediate surroundings—his partner, daughters and home territory—he has built a personal universe in which documentary photographs and poetic images constantly intertwine and question one another.
 
Can we long for something while it is still happening? This is the starting point of Summer's Almost Gone: one hundred images made during the summers of 2016–2021 in different parts of England and Spain, forming a distinctive family album of summer holidays. These periods of contact with nature bring freedom, discovery and play, but also challenges, growth and encounters with personal ghosts. Llovet invokes awareness of life's transience while questioning photography's limitations and the frustration of being unable to act and observe simultaneously.
 
If memory constructs an autobiographical narrative from disconnected fragments, filling gaps with imagination, this work's editing operates similarly, guided more by feeling than reason. Twenty-four sequences take the form of four-image groups, like vertical frames from a fictional documentary of the artist's life. After six years and five different dummies, the book is the formal culmination of a poetic and conceptual investigation. Its page layout recalls memory itself: veiled images, barely remembered moments and pages readers must unfold to glimpse windows onto the past.
 
Alongside the images, Lara Moreno's poetic prose speaks from the photographer's perspective, weaving a subtle parallel narrative that evokes those summers.