Eons later, walking down the same street and turning around the corner to face a boarded archway, I thought that maybe I should leave this town. When I turned back, I could see the lighted windows of the living room up on the first floor of the yellow house. Years passed and I began my travels, further and further away until I settled on the other side of the globe. The yellow house became a symbolic picture, another clipping from my memory album. My mother presence alone in the apartment on the second story of the yellow house, made me feel safe. As usual she was waiting for me, now that my father was gone and I was just passing through, her waiting will be forever empty in the midst of bookcases, clothes, pictures, clocks, and a desk with an empty armchair.
I find it interesting that the images in white, whom I suppose to be ghosts or spirits, do not share the softness of the written description.
ReplyDeleteI, too, am quite interested in the notion of memory and have referred to Toni Morrison's writing in particular on this point. She uses a term called "re-memory" to describe her perspective and it is often used in her novel, Beloved. There is a film version of the book, too. I am also of the belief that there is a distinct difference between remembering and "re-memory." What do you think?
Thanks for sharing the art and the writing!
When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. -Helen Keller
ReplyDeleteMemory is a strange friend sitting and sharing their story,
giving you a reason to remember,
a story is worth it,
even the journey,
but more importantly,
i think the time in between makes more sense.