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.