A summer exploration of memory, loss, and the fading clarity of those we love most.

This project documents the quiet sadness of forgetting: how the memories we hold of loved ones inevitably slip away as we gather new experiences.

Throughout the summer, each time a face came to mind, it was drawn from memory alone: eyes closed, charcoal moving in continuous line, tracing features from recollection to hand. Some portraits emerged clear and confident, others faded and uncertain, reflecting how memory itself shifts between sharp focus and soft blur. The process became a form of connection, drawing with the memory rather than simply from it, feeling the charcoal track the contours of absence and presence.

 

 

 

 

The Faces of Mine

The more I think, the more I forget.
Fullness fills but overflows and some trickles out.
Sadness and concentration fog memory vision.
The ocular image of them pulse too quick to capture.
What is this space, between memory and skin-ship?
Between the act of creating and the holding of that moment.
This newtons cradle of energy rocking, banging against being and disappearing.
Existence I suppose.
Is to exist to forget existence?
Is to be grounded the act of knowing memory is fleeting?
Is being in its whole, this constant tensile strain of physical and unknowing, of cell and consciousness?
What a duality.
I need to see it to know for sure.
Visualise this being,
just out of reach.
Not physically, but something else.
I am reaching for it in a bigger way.

Deep in the subconscious, in the third space.

I'm running to it.

I hope I don't forget.

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