I am collecting beautiful objects. A lamp shade. Some pillows. A chair. They are made of various materials. I am dissecting, I am adding, I am constructing a new memory. They are intricate. The finished appearance is friendly. They are loud.
It can be a comfort to know that I can have a memory which is purely my own - the exposure to the uncomfortable, the dangerous, and happiness, untouched by reality and untouched by the truth. Surrealistic and realistic elements begin to overlap, and I am often uncertain of which pieces reflect actuality and which are merely objects derived from my imagination.
Do you remember the brown-haired woman slumped on the couch? Do you remember how summery she used to feel? Do you remember her fingers barely clutching the lit cigarette, ready to fall at any moment?
Do you remember the faded floral couch cushions? Do you remember the wear and tear it grew over the years? Do you remember when they were so warm from the sun shining on them through the large open window? Do you remember the dead mouse rotting under those once cozy couch cushions?
Do you remember the laugh and stories from the man with the glasses? Do you remember the games he taught us? Do you remember when he stopped coming home? Do you remember the empty space he left?
Do I remember?
This work is salvation from what I remember. It is relief, it is growth, it is being selfish. This work is indulging the person I have become. It is me taking those memories, and creating my own. Putting myself first, and celebrating the person I am today.