Jerez de la Frontera, Spain. 1986
Temps vécu, 2014
Temps vécu shows a conjoint writing exercise, in which the receptor does not discover the message transmitted to them until the narrator moves their hand (and with it, the pencil) on the paper.
Every trace of this silent dialogue is the only remnant that stays in this journey, in the shape of stitches and every stitch entails a gear between memory, transmission and learning. In the succession of drawings, the vice of the trace contains the imprint from the one narrating to the one listening to the gesture.
In words of Cristina Mejías: My investigation takes as a starting point a series of conversations with my grandmother, in which she would describe a family home that I did not know, and from which today I only got access to its façade. That house belongs now to another person. Their story builds the walls, paints the tables, closets, and chairs, creates tours, noises, smells or discovers empty chambers guided by their mental map.
The mental landscape, the relationship between the individual and their unconscious, the way it manifests and how the rest perceive, take in, and model it until incorporating it to their own imagination.
We keep lots of memories because they have been narrated to us. How are stories formed? Many think that memory consists of going back and imagination consists of projecting, but even the worst of the stories are able to pass as memories that never happened and describe the truest of the experiences as fantastic hypotheses. When the physical plane disappears, that world of images starts to be a part of the memory and individual interpretation, of our own imaginary.
The resulting drawings of this writing by four hands are a product of a transmission in a language familiar to my grandmother and unknown to me. Thus, in this compactability of one’s own and else’s body, where the adversary reflects the image like a mirror, remains open the question, who guides who in this encounter?