reflections

learning from my last work, i succeeded in not relying on the concept note too much.
but the narrative to my "memory radio" was lacking to some extent. i plan to take this idea forward as i think its a great storytelling device, and is worth further development.

it will be nice if i can edit the sound peices together like a film, where each sound peice is carefully placed with thought given to what comes after and before it. there have to be sparks between adjacent sound pieces which give dynamism to the whole narrative in terms of rises and falls, and other narrative devices like suspense, anticipation.

babuji's funeral

When my grandfather passed away three years ago, i decided not to attend his funeral, i figured i had other things to do, and somehow i could not feel what had happened. on the day of the funeral, as it happened in my hometown around 500 kms away, i was overcome with a strange mix of emotions. this installation takes off from this event and is an attempt and understanding my own roots and the relationship i shared with my grandfather.

(the video, was playing on loop on a laptop as a part of the installation)

i tell myself 

its nothing

but a body

lifeless

lying on

a bed

afire

in a barren land

surrounded

by faces

familiar

its a lot more

than i think

i think

i think

smoke rising

in a heavy atmosphere

and my 

eyes burn

from the smoke

im guessing.

Grandfather says

"Sit in my hand."
I'm ten.
I can't see him,
but I hear him breathing
in the dark.
It's after dinner playtime.
We're outside,
hidden by trees and shrubbery.
He calls it hide-and-seek,
but only my little sister seeks us
as we hide
and she can't find us,
as grandfather picks me up
and rubs his hands between my legs.
I only feel a vague stirring
at the edge of my consciousness.
I don't know what it is,
but I like it.
It gives me pleasure
that I can't identify.
It's not like eating candy,
but it's just as bad,
because I had to lie to grandmother
when she asked,
"What do you do out there?"
"Where?" I answered.
Then I said, "Oh, play hide-and-seek."
She looked hard at me,
then she said, "That was the last time.
I'm stopping that game."
So it ended and I forgot.
Ten years passed, thirtyfive,
when I began to reconstruct the past.
When I asked myself
why I was attracted to men who disgusted me
I traveled back through time
to the dark and heavy breathing part of my life
I thought was gone,
but it had only sunk from view
into the quicksand of my mind.
It was pulling me down
and there I found grandfather waiting,
his hand outstretched to lift me up,
naked and wet
where he rubbed me.
"I'll do anything for you," he whispered,
"but let you go."
And I cried, "Yes," then "No."
"I don't understand how you can do this to me.
I'm only ten years old,"
and he said, "That's old enough to know."

Ai Ogawa
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this beautiful poem made me think about how events of the past can mould you into how you are now. even when shes 35, the author finds it hard to grasp what could have happened to her. im very intrigued how human nature can be so complex, so mucky, so grey. certain situations arise where its just impossible to be logical. i think this is where the real stuff of art lies, this is where it really hits, and stays with you, haunting you. as these words have, in my case.