Las Primas is a photo series of the women on my mom’s side of the family—Syrian migrants who made their homes in Mexico. I’ve been taking their portraits in their kitchens, spaces that hold so much more than just cooking. These rooms are full of stories—about where we come from, how we hold onto culture, and what it means to be a woman in both Syrian and Mexican traditions.

Each woman I photograph has a deep connection to food. They’ve learned recipes by heart, passed down through generations, often without writing anything down. The kitchen is where they keep those traditions alive, using memory, instinct, and care. It’s also where Syrian and Mexican cultures meet—where tahini lives next to tortillas, and spices from two continents mix in the same pot.

But something strange happens before each shoot—every single woman cleans her kitchen spotless before I arrive. It becomes this oddly sterile, perfect space, even though a kitchen is usually messy, loud, full of smells and life. That act of cleaning says a lot. In our community, there’s a strong pressure on women to always “look good,” not just themselves, but their homes too. There’s this unspoken rule: don’t let the cracks show. Be put together, presentable, even when no one’s watching.

So these portraits live in that tension. They show kitchens that are beautiful but almost too perfect—quiet, clean, a little eerie. Behind the neatness is a lot of unseen labor and expectation. This project is about honoring these women—their cooking, their care, their strength—but also questioning the roles they’re expected to play, and how much of themselves they’re allowed to show.