i’ve been thinking about what it means to be remembered and what it feels like to remember someone. i remember anyone i’ve shared time with, even if it was insignificant then. i can recall their voice, what their sighs of exasperation sounded like, their stutter when confronted with a question they didn’t want to answer or couldn’t answer, the sharp inflection in their tone when they said something that hurt me, remembering it even more so when it was unintentional, their laughs that were small and loud. i hold onto them not because they were all profound and meaningful but because they made a difference in how i think of connection, love and life and ultimately, the frailty of it all. i always think of when louise bourgeois said, i need my memories. they are my documents. i keep watch over them…if they come to you, they are the seeds for sculpture.
take rest, angels.
xx
Gah, tears.
These plaques are remarkably evocative of deep love and our ability to articulate our eternal connection to others. Thank you for posting this.