The Art of Memory

Memories are powerful.  They often make us hold on to objects for a long time.  They make us move forward and backwards.  I rather hear people talk than talk.

Some memories are corrupted and others can pass as hallucinations.  In the end they are all subjective.  I think of memories as trees.  In Reynosa, the trees were painted white with cal so the tree would last the winter or plague; anything.  I often think about doing the same thing to memories.  I want to protect the little bits I can remember. 

And I often join them all in a world that only exists within me which I paint so it can exist outside of me.