the collective memory project
Memory is a tricky thing for many — and like many, I have trouble remembering large portions of my childhood and upbringing. Yet, memory is a crucial aspect of identity, both individual and collective. It is the glue that holds communities, cultures and families together, as it becomes painfully evident in times of conflict and collective trauma.
My grandmother, a force of nature who grew up as the eldest daughter of Jewish parents during World War II in France, spent a few of her younger years escaping the Nazis. This was, as in many other families, not openly discussed during the many family lunches spent together — not even with my great grandmother, whom I was lucky enough to know as a child. After the war, my grandmother had a beautiful and eventful life, which she made hers and hers only until she had her kids — amongst which was my father —and settled into family life. Like most people in their coming of age, I struggled to piece together who I was and where I came from, and having parents who were reluctant to tell me about their lives, I turned to my grandmother, whom I greatly identified with.
In the summer of 2020, less than a year before she passed, I interviewed Annie (we called her by her first name) at her home. I had prepared many questions on a wide range of subjects, from her childhood, her relationships, the war, her regrets, her marriage and more, and I had told her that I wanted to interview her and film it. The interview lasted three hours, and by the end she had forgotten the camera entirely, and had revealed things to me that she hadn’t told many others, not even her own children. This was a world-changing experience for me, and it continues to bring me comfort in who I am and where I come from to this day.
This experience was what led me to this project: I want to encourage more of us to go to these uncomfortable places and ask questions — any questions — and to dive into the history of their family and of who they are, and why they are. So I set out on an ambitious journey to conduct an international social experiment, and to turn it into a creative project. So far, I have found participant in five countries who had an interest in finding out more about where they come from. Through this experiment, I approach the question of identity within collective memory in multiple ways: visually through photographs of the participants with their heirlooms, orally through multiple in-depth interviews, in writing through a handwritten letter…I also approach it informally, by tasking them to interview a relative of their choice about their life, and whatever topic interests them. In truth, I hesitate to call it an experiment, because it is so much more than that — what I want here is to accompany and encourage those who are curious about stories of the past and where they fit into them. This is what art means to me: to connect with others through subjects that are most intimate, and in that connection to learn from each other and create something meaningful — and to capture it in physical form so that I can encapsulate it and share it with you.
Here is a glimpse into the project so far, to which I’ll be adding audio clips and transcripts in hope of publishing a book and eventually exhibiting the project. I am currently continuing this project worldwide, so please reach out if you’re interested in taking part in it.
Aurélia (Paris, France)
“The object I’d like to talk to you about is a large golden bracelet that I find a little “showy”, very bling-bling. It’s not very discreet, much like the personality of the person who gave it to me. I think it’s a piece of junk, but I know it had and still has great sentimental value for the woman who gave it to me: my maternal grandmother.”
Julie (Paris, France)
“Behind this object is the imprint of my maternal family. As my grandmother says: “If sheets could talk!” Linen trousseaux bear witness to the love, life and death that members of my family have lived through and endured. They are loaded with emotions, sometimes secrets, history and by being passed on, they remind us of where we come from, and help us choose the path we wish to take.”
Simeon (Berlin, Germany)
“Hi workbench,
Look at you standing in the corner of my bedroom. Your wood is stained from about 100 years of existence. I don’t know when I first noticed you in my grandparents’ attic. It must have been after grandpa had died. I asked grandma if I could use it for my workshop and bring it to Berlin. She said yes and asked me why I wanted that old shabby thing.”
Deidre (Paris, France)
“I chose two letters written from my grandmother’s aunt in Zscherndorf, Germany to Toronto, Canada. One appears to be a holiday card. These letters, alongside many others, were sent to me in Germany from my great uncle and aunt in Canada. I feel emotional being given these letters as they are intimate portraits of the past and of people I am connected to but never met. ”
Rheut (Bangkok, Thailand)
“At the beginning, it is only the natural stone that passed down. Later the stone had been inlaid as the head of the ring by my grandpa. Since my grandpa owns the ring he deeply believed that it helps bring a great fortune to his career. As he build things up from scratch, but able to be quite successful in his restaurant business. After his dead the heritage from his work are a great support to many family members. Interestingly, at the peak of my grandpa’s business of of his brother attempted to buy the ring from him. He denied the offer and take hold of the ring further. Upon his death bed, he decided to pass the ring to me. Although I’m only five at that time. ”
Ella (Seoul, South Korea)
“You look so old as you must’ve remembered all stories of mom’s family and I was so happy to see you because I could feel my grandmother. That was your first impression to me. (...) Anyway, I can never get your answer back, but I want to as you a few things. If you still remember how my grandmother felt when she was ironing my grandfather’s shirts and other clothes. I’m wondering if she meditated doing that, or putting up with everything living with her family.”
Xiongnan (Seoul, South Korea)
“This is a photo from my parents’ wedding day, with my grandmother standing between them. It must have been 1981. Weddings back then had a lot more significance than they do now. My mom was 22, my father 24. I don’t remember my mom ever telling me what the wedding was like, how she felt... (...) I will never know how my father felt on that fay, the handful of memories I have of him are fading too...”