#1

Edition of 4

Fine art print on Archival Lustre Paper

A3+ 13x19"

$160

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The idea of memory as a static concept is unjustified - memory is not a bank of events one can simply pick and choose from, but a dialogue between one’s

consciousness and physical self.

My grandmother’s Alzheimers has always fascinated me for this reason;

when one’s memories deviate from reality, faces blur, forms are lost or misshapen, but the initial spark of that memory remains.

Occasionally, I’m able to catch fragmented memories from Zululand;

stories, histories, songs.

Who is to say that it bears any semblance to reality?

The core of these memories remain, but how can one be sure that the details, the specifics, they’re not the amalgamations of a lifetime of experiences/emotions/hardships?

And so I must ask myself;

How can I be sure that I can trust the memories, the places, stories, and histories that live inside of me?

That the places, people, the specifics and the details of these moments, won’t eventually be taken from me?

When I begin to fade, what will be lost?

What will I cling to, desperate to retain my sense of self?

What will evaporate, and what remains?

#1

#2

#3

'Or, Destruction'