Memories

I usually begin with an idea that stays with me—something I can’t quite shake. For my work, Memories, it was the feeling that memories are surprisingly hard to describe. When I looked for paintings that captured memory, I found only singular moments. But memories are never singular. They arrive in clusters.

So I started with my own. Some were vivid and detailed, others faint and unfinished. Some surfaced easily, while others slipped away the moment I tried to hold them. I talked about this with my daughters, curious about what they remembered. What struck me wasn’t overlap, but difference! Each of us carrying a completely different set of moments, shaped by the same life yet remembered in our own way.

When I stood in front of the canvas, the first image that came to me was a Ferris wheel. I don’t always know why certain forms appear, but I trust them when they do. The Ferris wheel stayed. Over time, it became the backdrop of the painting as a quiet reminder of cycles, of returning, of how life moves us through familiar arcs without ever repeating itself exactly.

I needed a way to carry the memories themselves. Balloons felt right. Like memories, they can be held close or allowed to drift. They can rise, gather, collide, or slip away entirely. Some stay within reach, others don’t.

That’s how this work unfolded for me. I began with a feeling and then allowed images to arrive through reflection, conversation, and attention. I let the work gather meaning on its own, trusting that what needs to stay will remain, and what needs to leave will find its own way out.