This is the last week before "Moment of Pure Seeing" hangs. I am wrapping, stapling, sawing, hammering away. Another trip to the photographers is in order. The work itself gets more enigmatic. One piece leads to the next.
The image of these two girls - my mother and her sister - weaves in and out of several pieces. My mother turns 84 this year.
Her sister died decades ago, in childbirth. My mom is, I believe, the only person who remembers her now.
I think a lot about time and memory: how memory changes, how its source disappears, the life it has inside our heads. When I work with my nursing home patients, I try to see past the surface to the memories they share. I hope some of this comes through in this show.
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