I can’t think about myself creatively without thinking of my childhood and my memories of it. I think this is the richest part of my mind, a library of detailed and evocative images I return to again and again. For my creative life it is the place that everything comes from. Everything. It runs deeply through all of what I make – whether it is my intention or not.
When I approach it directly – when I go looking for those images and sensations and moods and textures and attempt to express them, as purely as I can, I sometimes lose my self consciousness, my judgmental self gets out of the way. I think it has to do with the quality of memory itself – shadowy and shifting, elusive and sometimes fragmentary – it requires patience, careful listening and something slower and quieter from me.
It’s something I’m curious about – these impressions of experiences that my brain made and kept. I’m curious about all these pictures that exist in my mind and nowhere else and I wonder how to express them as fully as I can without my current perspective and judgements getting in the way.
The image above is from my “this is where i am from” series: I remember when I was 10 or so, alone in my room, noticing that I was experiencing an exquisite moment. I was lying on my bed reading Anne of Greene Gables. It was late in the day on a Sunday and almost to cold too have the window open- but not quite.