Altar to the Forgotten

“Sometimes we find ourselves in the presence of a form that guides and encloses our earliest dreams. For a painter, a tree is composed of its roundness. But a poet continues the dream from higher up. He knows that when a thing becomes isolated, it becomes round, assumes a figure of being that is concentrated on itself.”

—Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space

Within these looping patterns, the solidity of a more traditional space and form of home exists. An oasis is created where the traditional mingles with the dreamt. Each piece holds an individual moment in a wary bubble. Simultaneously frozen in action, and altar to the unknown, they are effigies of emotion and longing. As with all homes, they exist as a kind of time machine, not only a receptacle for memory, but of hopes, dreams, and imaginings.

These circular worlds exist as both altar and anchor to the never ending search for the lost. Precious moments, long forgotten, still exist in the recesses of individual imagination. They are coaxed into the light from the shadows of these worlds, sweet, nostalgic, bitter, and fraught, they remain treasures too personal to abandon.