We Tell Each Other Stories, So That We Will Remember
#29. This is in part, inspired by Psalm 91: “He that dwells in the secret place of the most high, he shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty (Whisper…the secret place… the secret place). Surely, he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence…Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday...” A collapsed connection to a deceitful faith full of promise, that nauseatingly failed the masses.
The grids represent those glass school windows with metal mesh in between the panes, those other marks are scars. They can also be read as injuries, but also as movement beyond the barrier - something one might reach for like heavenly bodies or elusive hope, elusive ideas, salvation, just beyond reach, but being reached for all the same. Hope is held in the yellow palm.
In the oral tradition, we tell each other stories so that we will remember. Try and find the meaning in the living of our days. Wanting to remember where and whom we came from, who we are. Sometimes there’s a story that’s painful to remember. One that breaks the heart of us all. Still we tell the story. We’re listening and confessing what we have forgotten in the story of us all.