Memories

What would we be without our memories? The different events that take place in our lives make us unique. Without them we would all think the same, never forming our own personal opinions. It seems the quirkiest and most unusual memories are often the ones that stay with us, as well as some of the painful ones. A few years ago my grandmother was diagnosed with early signs of Alzheimer’s. She asks me the same questions continuously, every time I visit, forgetting the answers. This makes me realize how precious even the simplest memories are. Some of my most vivid memories help explain who I am.

1. Peas

8" x 10". Medium: black & white photo with photoshop coloring.

My earliest memory seems random and does not make much sense. The memory consists of me sitting all alone at the lunch table in daycare at the age of three, eating a mountain of peas. I wonder how this image is significant over all others from my earliest years. Why do I remember the peas? I do not remember playing in a park at that age, or sleeping in our first apartment, but eating a plate full of peas was significant to my three-year-old self. If my first memory were of corn, or of playing blocks with my big sister, would I be the same? Our memories help to define who we are.

2. The Purple Marker

18" x 24". Medium: charcoal and pastel.

Memories are triggered by all sorts of things, like a phrase or a place. But sometimes, just an object can send you back into the body of your past. Whenever I draw with markers, it brings me back to the days I would spend with my favorite purple marker, sitting on my bedroom floor. Instead of playing with dolls or Legos as a little kid, I was more likely to play by drawing people and creating adventures for the characters I would draw. I would create evil stepmothers and detailed castles. I would draw ballerinas, and gymnasts, and cats dressed up as people, putting on shows. With my markers, my imagination came to life on paper.

3. Words and Pictures

18" x 24". Medium: newspaper, newsprint, xerox transfer, charcoal, and ink.

I remember reading a Magic Tree House book in the third grade. It took me a month to get past the first four chapters and even so I could not remember what I had read. One of my classmates came over and said, “You’re still reading that? Those books are so easy.” He left and I broke out in tears. It felt like he had reached in and torn my heart out.

Language and reading have always been a struggle for me and dyslexia shapes much of who I am. It has made me grow up faster and understand that things do not always play out the way we want. It has made me build up a determination that helps push me further. It also makes me see things in pictures rather than words. This memory represents that phase and struggle.

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