Recollections: A Series of Stratachronistic Rooms
A rusty watershed, red as a penny, a tumbledown shack, a popup trailer, buildings that recall the innumerous buildings that dappled the hillside on a long drive, masked by the evening's darkening anonymity. These aren't real places. They aren't quite imagined either. They subsist in the mind as memories and exist in time as constructs.
The three rooms presented here comprise suitcases and books, photographs, maps and drawers full of scented postcards. They bring together found objects and art objects. A participant can explore cabinets and uncover videos embedded in old books. She can watch the countryside unwind, through car windows, as captured on a series of 8mm films from the 1940’s to the 1980’s. Or she can just find an old theater seat, close her eyes and listen to the whirr of a projector as it marks the unfolding seconds.
Time piles upon memory like snow falling on a landscape: as it builds up, in stratified layers, insignificant details are smoothed out and only ideal surfaces remain. Details and colors vanish under layers of time, leaving only the illegible essence of the memory — the way childhood felt.
Recollections pits the idealizations of memory against constructed objects and invites participants to explore the result.
A rusty watershed, red as a penny, a tumbledown shack, a popup trailer, buildings that recall the innumerous buildings that dappled the hillside on a long drive, masked by the evening's darkening anonymity. These aren't real places. They aren't quite imagined either. They subsist in the mind as memories and exist in time as constructs.
The three rooms presented here comprise suitcases and books, photographs, maps and drawers full of scented postcards. They bring together found objects and art objects. A participant can explore cabinets and uncover videos embedded in old books. She can watch the countryside unwind, through car windows, as captured on a series of 8mm films from the 1940’s to the 1980’s. Or she can just find an old theater seat, close her eyes and listen to the whirr of a projector as it marks the unfolding seconds.
Time piles upon memory like snow falling on a landscape: as it builds up, in stratified layers, insignificant details are smoothed out and only ideal surfaces remain. Details and colors vanish under layers of time, leaving only the illegible essence of the memory — the way childhood felt.
Recollections pits the idealizations of memory against constructed objects and invites participants to explore the result.