Memories move in a peculiar way. Conflating the past, present and future, each colour, material and form is laced with symbolic significance. They work to make tangible emotions, thoughts and traumas, so they can be detached from the body, but also manipulated by it.
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Felt, thread, rice, thread (from Jez’s Christmas embroidery), circus poster from a door at the end of the street, rain, wind, sun, bedsheets, transfer paper, paper from ‘What Do I Call You Now?’
I don’t believe in coincidences. I think everything is aligned. Not quite like the stacking of a domino trail, but like the open weave of torn gauze.
Thread suspended together, interlocking at intervals along the warp and weft, open to the breezes which waft through the fibres,
catching it adrift.
The frayed edges, the tenuousity
When two memories collide they were destined to meet.
One form becoming another
feeding
intertwining
breeding
The imagery flows and become a synonym for one and other.
An object from decade ago is baptised in new meaning
on the turn of a moment
a last breath
The silenced hands which never beat together
The performer who never heard it
A door no longer opened.
All movement ceased.
And I,
a pilgrim to it all.
Marisa Crane / @marisacraneartist