Memory Bank
WORDS for the day – WORDS for the night
Wall installation with table and small canvases on wheels
Materials: acrylic paint, PVC tubing, canvas, wood, metal, alphabet pasta and glass jars
Dimensions variable; configuration adapts to the space
Memory Bank reflects on the fragile rhythm between order and chaos, work and rest, day and night. A blue line runs across the wall like a quiet heartbeat of time — a visual schedule where everyday tasks, to-do lists and fragments of memory flow together.
Life as project permanently running late.
At its center, a large canvas of blue rectangles fades from dark to light, a calendar of color marking the Earth’s slow rotation. Across the canvas, spilling onto the wall, stretches a faint yellow grasshopper — barely visible yet always present. A silent alarm. A small insistence on staying awake inside the routine.
In front stands a tall night table, its open drawer spilling alphabet pasta — words waiting to form, letters trying to make sense. Two glass jars hold words for the day and words for the night. Transparent tubes connect the night table to small canvases on wheels. These low-tech carriers shuttle unfinished messages between day and dreamtime— separate bodies connected to the same hidden current.
Language, memory and routine enter the same living system. Night spills into day; time folds back into itself, circling again and again. The work does not resolve the tension between order and chaos. It keeps both in motion.
Balance appears for a moment, then rolls away. Somewhere between the words, another door remains open.
Memory BANK
WORDS for the day – WORDS for the night
Wall installation with table and small canvases on wheels
Materials: acrylic paint, PVC tubing, canvas, wood, metal, alphabet pasta and glass jars
Dimensions variable; configuration adapts to the space
Memory Bank reflects on the fragile rhythm between order and chaos, work and rest, day and night. A blue line runs across the wall like a quiet heartbeat of time — a visual schedule where everyday tasks, to-do lists and fragments of memory flow together.
Life as project permanently running late.
At its center, a large canvas of blue rectangles fades from dark to light, a calendar of color marking the Earth’s slow rotation. Across the canvas, spilling onto the wall, stretches a faint yellow grasshopper — barely visible yet always present. A silent alarm. A small insistence on staying awake inside the routine.
In front stands a tall night table, its open drawer spilling alphabet pasta — words waiting to form, letters trying to make sense. Two glass jars hold words for the day and words for the night. Transparent tubes connect the night table to small canvases on wheels. These low-tech carriers shuttle unfinished messages between day and dreamtime— separate bodies connected to the same hidden current.
Language, memory and routine enter the same living system. Night spills into day; time folds back into itself, circling again and again. The work does not resolve the tension between order and chaos. It keeps both in motion.
Balance appears for a moment, then rolls away. Somewhere between the words, another door remains open.
