Surface Memory - The Story of a Moment

Last semester I became fascinated with soap bubbles. I went to the New York Hall of Science and saw an exhibit there called “Soap Film Painting”. Visitors are encouraged to hoist a 5-foot sheet of bubble up the height of an armature as a way to illustrate the bubble’s rainbowed shell. When I saw the 5-foot tall bubble generated and how much people enjoyed playing with it, rooting for it to make its way to the top, and gasping audibly as it popped, I saw an opportunity. I saw the possibility for a participatory screen, a blank piece of moving and malleable paper that I desperately wanted to map images on to. The bubble sheet had several attributes that made it an appealing projection surface, it was reflective, slightly iridescent, and most interestingly it was temporary. But could this even be done? Could I actually project images on to a soap bubble?

The transience of soap bubble reminded me of a memory. We all know what it feels like to remember something. Out of nowhere we are transported back in time, across geographies and through immeasurable distances to a singular moment. Just as quickly as the memory is upon us it vanishes, beyond our control, thrusting us back to the present. This experience, to remember something, is a highly personal one and happens in the interior self. It cannot truly be shared. My installation seeks to tell the story of that interior moment.

Surface Memory is an immersive experience that will externalize a memory for others to see. By marrying my family’s archival 8mm films and photos from the 1930’s - 1950’s with present day narration by my 97-year-old grandfather, and a soap bubble screen, I will create a participatory experience of what a memory feels like to the person having it.

I got my first camera at 13. I’ll never forget the anticipation of waiting for my very first roll of pictures to come back from the drug store. What would they look like? Did I get the shots I wanted? Was my thumb covering the lens? Similarly, I’ll never forget my first day in the darkroom developing and printing my own images. Handling individual photographs was precise, highly labor intensive and arduous. I was awestruck watching blank pieces of paper transform into photographs after a short bath in transparent developing liquid. Holding those images in my hand and tacking them to my wall gratified me deeply. Not only had I been able to capture individual moments unique to my experience by freezing them in time, but I could now conjure them up in the present, and better yet share them with others.

Over the last 20 years as photography has evolved I have evolved with it. During the last 5 years, in particular, digital photography has really come in to its own. I got my first point and shoot digital camera just about 5 years ago and my first digital SLR about a year ago. Since acquiring these cameras I can’t remember the last time I waited for pictures to come back from the drug store or the last time I set foot in a darkroom. The instantaneousness of digital photography has all but eliminated the delayed gratification integral to traditional photography. We no longer have to wait for our results, we see what we are doing real time and correct along the way. This evolution has closed the gap between the past and the present by providing push of a button access to our photos.

I believe the explosion of digital photography has also diminished the significance of taking pictures and devalued the photograph itself. Picture taking is no longer confined to life’s most commemorative moments. We can take as many photos as we want, delete what we don’t like, print them out at home, or send them out via mass email to our entire address book. Our most special moments are now mixed in with an onslaught of the interstitial, the everyday. I wonder this shift hasn’t also changed what we choose to remember, buried it, or at least obscured it in someway.

Personally, I take pictures because I want to remember a specific moment. I love nothing more than the flood of emotion that washes over me when a photograph triggers a memory. It is as if I am instantaneously transported back to that moment, a moment perhaps I had even forgot about, and can spend as much time there as I wish.

Similarly, I love hearing my 97-year-old grandfather tell stories about our family. I am always surprised by how far back his recollections go and how sharp he is. Listening to his voice I’m able to paint a portrait, in my minds eye, of what these moments or events looked like. I internalize these stories as a part of me that’s gone missing. He remembers things I was not there for. He remembers things I was there for but do not remember myself. Yet, I want all of these moments to be a part of me to preserve them in some way as an extension of myself. I am left with wondering what would it be like if I could actually see these moments as he saw them? What would be like to see the memories of another person?

Finally, Surface Memory is my attempt to elevate the singular image out of the proliferated mass and back to the status of precious. I want to provide my audience with the palpable, poetic and playful feeling of an image/memory that I believe is rapidly being extinguished by the advancements in the world of digital imagery.

Users will see a curtain of photographs comprised of single frames from the 8mm films that are incorporated into installation. The curtain will have gaps between the images so those outside are treated to a sneak preview of what’s going on inside the piece. Once inside users will see an armature with curtain pull attached to a red and white cord. There will be a large “x” on the floor to indicate where they should stand. Users will hear snippets of audio from interviews with my grandfather. There will be snippets of stories mixed with interstitial dialogue such as breathing and the occasional chuckle playing randomly through the help of a Jitter patch. There will also be two small bubble machines on either side of the armature filling the space with floating bubbles. The gesture of the rig will invite users to pull the cord. When they do they will see images that correspond to the stories being told, projected on to the large piece of white foam core directly opposite them. The presence of the bubble sheet stops and starts the experience, meaning they will not be able to see the projection without raising up a bubble. Users will only see as much of the projection as the bubble will allow. Bubbles naturally invite play and thus users will be encouraged to play with the bubble and in turn the projection the see. When the bubble pops the projection will disappear.