Omar Dario
Amestoy, 31 María del Carmen Fettolin i, 29
Maria Eugenia Ames, 5 years
Fernando Amestoy, 3 years
Amestoy's family is murdered on November 19, 1976
in the "Slaughter of the street Juan B. Just "
San Nicolas de los Arroyos (Buenos Aires).
In September 2007, the families still seeking justice.
1975 Amestoy
Omar Dario Mario Alfredo Amestoy
2006. Mario Alfredo Amestoy
Omar Dario was born on 4 January 1945 in Nogoyá (Entre Ríos).
The Ames family works in the sale of textiles. Omar studied law. Takes over the Land Registry of Motor Vehicles of his hometown. He combines his work with social activism in the slums of the city. Theirs is a model records.
Omar is killed along with his wife, Maria del Carmen Fettolini, and their two children, Maria Eugenia, five years old, and Fernando, three, in what is known as the 'Slaughter of the John B. Street Just 'in the town of San Nicolas de los Arroyos. The murder in the home of Ames is committed by joint forces of the Argentine Army and Federal Police and Buenos Aires.
Many bicycles. Brother Omar recalls the crowd with their bikes came from neighborhoods to the funeral.
Pictured is a Sunday. Omar and his brother Mario Alfredo with their families have left the field. Spring 1975. A fishing day and barbecue on the bridge of 'what Navarrete. "
Pictured is a Sunday. Omar and his brother Mario Alfredo with their families have left the field. Spring 1975. A fishing day and barbecue on the bridge of 'what Navarrete. "
Bridge 'I Navarrete' (by Jaume Mestres) About
path is the stream where no fishing today.
I'm sitting in a room, the beginning of the curved horizon I see. Campos, shrubs and trees and home witness happy times. That I believe.
I hope my friend's shirt White bagged on my knees.
Atento, I'm surprised how little by little, miles of trails cut through the grass. Drawn with the rolling paths of many bicycles. More and more. From the horizon to the chirping of the pedal and gear as they approach fatty. Some cross me. No one crosses care. Only athletes with white shirts as I asked my friend.
path is the stream where no fishing today.
I'm sitting in a room, the beginning of the curved horizon I see. Campos, shrubs and trees and home witness happy times. That I believe.
I hope my friend's shirt White bagged on my knees.
Atento, I'm surprised how little by little, miles of trails cut through the grass. Drawn with the rolling paths of many bicycles. More and more. From the horizon to the chirping of the pedal and gear as they approach fatty. Some cross me. No one crosses care. Only athletes with white shirts as I asked my friend.
Texts of the book catalog of the exhibition 'Absence'