storytelling
I will not apologize for my understanding of my work being constantly changing.
I’ve been trying to reconcile the fact that this project, this overarching visual explanation, has a meaning that is consistently fluctuating. I’ve been attempting to pin down what exactly I am trying to capture here, and what specific emotions are connected. While I’ve certainly presented in previous statements that I have a definition of this work, they’ve been a definition in that moment. I’m hoping, in some way, to find a definition that lasts.
This project – which at this point I recognize does not fit well with its original name – is effectively a documentation of transition. Yes, this is the story of my relationship with my grandmother, Memere, Barbara Cashman, at present, addressing the emotional balancing act of simultaneous absence and presence, memory, family, and loss. You could say this is a story of grieving – some have already dubbed it as such. You can also say that this is, in a way, a presentation of hope.
I’m utilizing the house itself as a representational stand-in for our family’s history, for the transitional nature of the loss of a loved one. But she’s not gone, just simply not present. She is here, physically, and in many ways emotionally, but her own story is fading. The house itself, then, carries much of her story through all she has left there. And as my sister has purchased the house and is making it her home, the house itself is a space of active transition from one family member to another. Much of Memere’s possessions are still there, still her fingerprint in the home that tells her story through it’s contents.
The exterior of the house has not yet changed, and will not for some time. But the interior, the location of things and the configuration of rooms, the color of walls and the contents of closets, is changing in leaps and fits. But the story is still there, albeit quieter. The story of my grandmother is a story in the lineage of strong women in our family’s history, of matriarchs, of lodestones offering a line of insight to the next step, offering reassurance. My grandmother’s story is one she is not able to tell, as she has told the stories of countless family members that came before and after her.
The role of the storyteller in our family is a shared one, but as my grandmother has seen the passing of her sisters and cousins, she is the sole member of her generation to bear the responsibility. And so, my father and I are taking that on, as well as some of his cousins and their children, to be sure our family stories are ones that last. We’ve unintentionally landed on a motto of sorts, pulling from a story I remember Memere telling me when I was very young – a story worth sharing is a story worth remembering. Our family’s stories are worth remembering, and I’m doing my best to remember Memere’s. And although she cannot tell me her stories herself anymore, I can capture the stories she has left behind in the present.
