MEMORY AND THE POSITIONING OF SELF
We had a studio warming recently at Inkspot followed by Karaoke at the Cliffton Arms. Just as guests were about to arrive, Alison and I, who had been working diligently for the better part of the day and had not yet eaten, decided to order pizza across the street.
Responsible drinking starts with a full stomach. Especially when Karaoke is involved.
I love the feeling of being in a new place. I love how even on Cliffton Street were my studio has been since the start of the new year, I can manage to exit a shop and head in the direction opposite to the one which I assume I’m heading.
I love the turning about in one’s head, the repositioning of the self, the disorientation and surfacing exhilaration when the world rights itself and you realize you are not where you thought you were.
While we were waiting for pizza, I got a text from James saying he was outside Inkspot, but was unsure which door to use. Since he wasn’t outside our entrance across the street, I realized he must be at the front of the building.
There was a man standing on the corner with a green bag and I instructed James to to walk towards him where, from that vantage point, he would be able to see me.
When the man showed signs of leaving I was dismayed – the lighthouse on the shore was in transit and James was in danger. As I moved up the street to rescue James his voice on the line said not to worry, he had seen me.
It was only then that I realized that the man previously standing on the corner with a green bag was James, himself. The world – my place in it, and James’ place in it from my perspective – righted itself.
In my current work exploring online personal image archives and memory, I am realizing how pervasive is the perception- even when one knows otherwise – that memory objects are mysterious, personal-portals to a static past.
We find it difficult to accept that with each act of remembering, we position ourselves anew.
We turn in our heads, reposition ourselves, are disoriented.
Maybe the exhilaration when we realize we are not where we thought we were accounts for our attachment to memory objects – even if we think they are something other than what they truly are.
