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Memory is a funny thing. I often find that the more important something is to me, the harder it is to remember it. It's as though I can only look at memories through my peripheral vision. As soon as I turn to look directly at them, they melt away in a blur. Sometimes I wonder if memories are supposed to be felt more than seen.
Obsolescent Memories is a collage/illustration series exploring the ephemeral nature of memory and nostalgia.
Empty Playground
This is the first piece I made, when I first started thinking about this concept. Pictured is the aquatic center I used to love visiting as a child. The playground set has been burned away, leaving only the silhouette in its place.
The First to Go
When my grandmother died, I was horrified by how quickly and completely I forgot her face, her voice, her laugh.
If I try really hard, I can still sense a faint imprint of those things, but most of it is gone. I still clearly remember her yellow shirt with the stars on it, though, or the feathery-soft wrinkles of her hands, or the way she always sat so primly at family gatherings, softly smiling at her loved ones.
But for whatever reason, the things I want to remember the most are the first to go.
Transcript for The First to Go
Transcript for The First to Go
(This is a transcript for the words on this painting, in case they're difficult to read)
"When I start to forget someone, the eyes are the first to go."
"How have I already forgotten? How did you disappear so quickly?"
"I've already forgotten your face. Your voice. Your laugh. If I try really hard, I can almost hear it. I'm sorry. I'm trying."
"Your form burned while my back was turned, leaving only shadows in its place."
"Where have you gone?"
"Why is it so hard to remember?"
"You're all blurry now. I can't see clearly."
"I just wanna remember. Is that too much to ask?"
"I'm clinging on to your memory as hard as I can, but it all slips away, like slush on a snowy day."
"I'm sorry."
"I just wanna remember."
"I just wanna remember."
Gelli Print 1
It appears I've found several different ways to convey the same idea. Much of this series involves portraying the shape of a thing, but not its contents.
I experimented with some gelatin prints, and I liked the idea of separating the silhouette of objects from their texture. When I revisit a memory, I seem to observe it in separate pieces. A face, then a smell, then maybe the way the light plays off a surface.
Gelli Print 2
No Leaves Left to Mourn
In the summer of 2023, I spent quite a bit of time going on nature walks. I gazed up at the canopy of trees, watching in wonder as the sun made the leaves glow from the inside out. I stuck my face directly in front of snails nestled amongst ivy, and brilliant purple wildflowers. I tried to encode each vibrant color I saw into my memory, so I'd never forget it.
As the months progressed, I became more and more aware of the coming seasons. Sure, fall meant that the leaves would match the sunset. But it also meant winter was coming.
Soon, winter would come to take my precious nature away. Soon, everything around me would bleed out its color, leaving only the color grey behind. And soon, I'd be left feeling as hollow and barren as the trees.
I spent the last gasps of summer and fall clinging to them with clenched fists. Time passed anyway.
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