Recently someone asked me a poignant question, and perhaps it was not intended to be so, but it evoked a sense of melancholy somehow. It’s not particularly sad, per se, but either way, it reminded me of these photos from winter last year that I completely forgot about. The question was simple, “Do you feel like you leave a part of yourself behind, or are you complete wherever you are?” I’m paraphrasing, I think. It’s hard to tell on hindsight since we often forget.
As I was dwelling on this topic, I remembered I had felt so alone back then (whenever this ‘back then’ was) because some memories are etched to different parts of you that grew up in a myraid of environments. When I had left the states the first time, I was full of fear that I would no longer be that same self (a foolish thought) and I would suddenly be recognised as that person “who used to live in the states” (utter rubbish, since we can define ourselves however we want.) Another point I had failed to consider in my younger years was that people simply do not care about you much, as they tend to be more focussed on their own issues and insecurities. For example, when I return to the states, uk, or japan, my personal self changes (even if ever so slightly) where I adapt to the culture I am familar with. This is not to say I am no longer myself, but I am the me, that lived in that country (probably evolved as we are constantly changing, if this even makes sense…) Okay, I bet Freud would have something to say about this.
Anyway, I am often very glad to be back in the states, regardless of whether it is for work or pleasure, as I find myself to be very free. While each city/country has its pros and cons, I am merely expounding on the personal self assessment when back in different places I grew up or spent time in. I used to feel like I was leaving a big chunk of myself behind whenever I left the Bay area. However, with age, it started to feel as though I could walk through an imaginary door in my mind and stand right in front of my home there. In all honesty though, I’ve found that the repetitive action of booking the plane ticket, boarding that flight and taking that same route over and over again help me realise just how accessible it could be. However, the reality that we are changing every single day, and the memories we hold near and dear to our hearts can never be anything more than that reminds me that we are all here for a brief time. It would only be wise to consider why we are here and what we are here for. (Wow stop nagging, Denise.)
Last bit. It felt really special to see that Gerhard Richter painting that I fell in love with when I was 18. It has been 16 years after all! Also, it’s been years but I am still enamoured by Twombly’s work. Ugh.
Denise Taw 