I set off with 5 of my pieces in plaster and went there.
I chose the pieces carefully and I went there.
I made sure that my camera was fully charged, the laptop ready, the sun hidden behind some clouds, that I had all possible needed connections, cables, phones, wifi. That the coffee was warm, that I had some food with me; and I went there.
I went there.
It’s incredible how the mind plays tricks on you: I cannot remember things I did or places I was in the company of some people back in 2005 but sure as I am writing now I remember the street I lived in 1976: via Villa. The last house, one of those houses up there, just under the mountain. At the end of the street.
The houses have been taken down and rebuilt. They look horrendous.
So, my pieces and I went there. I constantly had to remind myself: don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You are here to work, to do a good job. You are here as an artist, to take pictures. You have an exhibition coming up. Be strong. You can do it. Set yourself into working-mode, that’s all you have to do. That’s all you are asked to do.
But it has not been that straightforward.
There were emotional hurdles I needed to overcome.
Then, once I took the pictures and left, I met with Uncle and Auntie. I have already written, on here, about them. They have been actively involved with art, curating, exhibiting, photographing, and they are my ref. point re. what I do and how I do it.
There has been an in-depth conversation while holding the pieces, simply sitting at the table, and reminiscing what went on. What went on that night. We talked on the why and the how. He asked reasons and motivations. There have been suggestions and also corrections I need to take into consideration.
And for the first time, I feel that what I am doing is not only important to me, but also to others.
So, I will go back, there.