I collect things so that I won't forget things.
I also make things so that I won't forget things.
My grandmother was a collector
and a maker, and, then, a forgettor.
My mother is a maker too,
but in a more cerebral, less corporeal way,
which makes sense.
Sometimes I find things on the ground and pick them up.
Then I keep them, so I am a collector of those things too.
My grandmother was a collector of a different sort.
But, like me, she kept things that she imagined herself using to make something.
And she kept things so she wouldn't forget things.
Some things I make because I want something different to happen.
I want my mother's legs to heal
or for people to talk to their neighbors.
So I make something,
(something part-found, part-collected, part-made)
to make that different thing happen,
or make something not happen,
whichever the case may be.
My mother keeps things so that we won't forget.
And she keeps things, usually old things, that she thinks are beautiful.
Too affected by my grandmother's collecting to really collect herself,
she fights it.
And so do I, to an extent.
Sometimes I hate my objects,
and other people's objects.
Sometimes I make work about that feeling.
the weight of objects and memories and forgetting.
Physical immobility frightens me.
My neighbor is a collector too.
She was a maker but making has become difficult
with stiffness and remembering and forgetting.
I like to sort through her objects
and make things with her.
It keeps us limber.
Which is the main reason I make things at all.