Identities

 

They say that our memories are the architecture of our identities. Some foundations are laid out without our control. We can decide to reshape, redesign, re- model as we grow older.

Memories are this interesting expansive place where faded and vivid images, emotions, sensations can be revived, relived, they come rushing sometimes unannounced, at times welcomed, at others less. They can stir the whole body into warm joy, strong ecstasy or deep sadness. They are living there somewhere in our mind and bodies. They have even a life of their own and can sneakily morph.

So what is an identity really. What kind of architecture is it? Are we chained to one, and that’s it? or can we move house or add to it?

Are we slave to them or can we shape them, strip them of the unwanted  and enrich with the coveted? and therefore our “identities”.

What if we can’t get on the property ladder? Do we have no identity if its all been burnt into oblivion and oblivious memories?

We can make it as rigid or as fluid as we want:

Mobile, immobile, open or opaque.

Concrete,  organic and everchanging

Monochrome, homogenous, camaieu, multicolour

Single storey or skyrise, minimalist, over the top

Composite or uniform.

Poetic or crudely realist

Pessimist, fatalist , tragic,  fearful, driven and optimist

Childlike, serious, tidy or messy

With a lot of books on the shelves, lots plants, artworks, a garden, or just a hammoc between two trees.

It’s maybe just a memory gathering carousel, going round in a circle – a rotational life.

When I grow up