~ frame ~ AR experience

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~ frame ~
I see my grandmother with Alzheimer’s disease who forgets a little bit more of what she knows, changing their chronologies, I see her in a dark environment behind a window suspended without a surrounding wall. I am inside and she is outside, looking
in. I am surprised that to feel inside, I do not need a wall that defines the inside and the outside by separating them. Here, spacetime can be divided into two with only a window frame suspended in the air. This distinct, separating frame in suspension reminds me of the photographic frame. When the frame becomes a photograph, time is also divided along with space; different temporalities inhabit the two sides of the photograph – the temporality of the photographed and that of the viewer of the photograph. Layers, along with moments of time suggested by objects included in the photographic frame, create a blinding eclipse of time. The “now” of the person holding the photograph of a past time sequence becomes the future of the moment photographed.
Nonetheless, this time we are in heterochronic time. My grandmother, whom I see behind a window, resembles the shadow of the future carrying elements that belong to the past. This vision, which suggests a non-existent future made up of memory images, is similar to the temporal deterioration caused by taking a photograph in a dream. The act of taking a picture of a space produced with images from the subconscious in the dream universe creates dischronia –both due to the absence of a primordial “now” to relate to in the forming of the photograph, and because it carries a statement –the photographed subject’s past, the present time of the subject looking at the photograph– in contradiction with the dream-temporality–of the past, of a time not to come, constituted by future oriented reflections– of the action.
Although there is only glass and two surrounding window panes between my grandmother and I, the wooden joiner in front of her face prevents our eyes from uniting and I can’t see her face. The window has two panes that can open but no handles. I see my grandmother’s body as a grey silhouette under the dim light. When I shift my position to see her, her face always stays behind that joiner, I can not succeed in getting her inside my perspective. As if the point of flight is located in my pupils, with each of my movements her face escapes from me and hides behind the obstacle. Despite all the hunger, my gaze can not meet the triggering contact. It is like when you begin to think that all the days are the longest form of a single day if you watch them go by without changing your position, although you know that time flows through each day as slowly as it does. ~ daiy
That frontier I cannot overcome despite all my efforts reminds me of death and photography. I think that the window between me and her image could be a marble frame that opens out from the soil on the ground. When a person dies, when you can no longer see them in real life, the image of that person from then on can only be defined within the confines of memory. Their image can no longer be produced; only variations of reproduced images can be created. ~ I rememorize As timeeaters consume the present, they also chew on the crumbs of the departed remaining in memory; and those defining confines within memory are narrowed in time. But a photographic image of that person provides details that root the memories and increase the vitality of that moment while recreating it. Their voice, their smell, and their belongings turn into triggers. When I inspect the small photographs with a magnifying glass, as soon as the details I normally cannot see come into contact with my eyes, the time inside the photograph expands, ghost images appear, new knots are tied, new stitches between now and the past are woven. However, just as my grandmother’s face behind the window avoids the contact of my gaze and enacts this through the confines and obstacles provided by the frame, there is also a limit to the width of time that the photograph offers to the viewer. When I want to go beyond the time frame suggested by the photograph and add more elements to the artifice of resurrecting the memory of the departed, I notice that there is something missing at the foundation of the structure. With the company of ghost images, I can only reach ghosts. All the present moments rebuilt with triggering objects turn into the junkyard of the time not to come.

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