23:32 , a cold Monday
 

 

To the reader of this letter,

(a short message in a precarious moment. I hope this is reaching you safely.)
 

I am stuck with the malady of memory.
Paralyzed by the hauntings of gestures, letters, photographs, writings…
Generational things that perhaps go on and on during a time where

 

I can’t think.    I can’t make.
 

Immobilized by an outer disease that brings about a different kind of trappedness with one’s own debilitating thoughts.
The same ones I have hoarded for years.
The ones that are informed by the letters of my ex-conscript ancestors, mothers, orphan children, non-existent but somehow not gone people.
 

I seek nothing more than a kind of catharsis.
 

A catharsis from haunting. Memories, maladies and echoes of generational things that have been passed down. That go on and on. Over and over.
 

I draw.
I over draw.
I draw beside.
I paint over.

 

I create and make the way my mind layers and collages the continuous things that haunt my mind to see them in a way that makes sense to me. In a way that offers peace during a precarious time where peace is perhaps as fuzzy as the abstract dots of a silkscreen. I continue on until I can no longer (perhaps until my fingers go raw).

Welcome to my daily hauntings.
My maladies of memory.
 

Soon,
Natalia