Tell Me What I’m Remembering, 2021 - ongoing

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Installation view (rendered by Luc Schol)

How do we assess the reality before us when it is beyond our comprehension?

Throughout childhood, into adulthood, I have been reminded of somewhat random imagery in my head, of the memories I have never had. The scenes are vague but deeply embedded causing me to live in the in-betweenness of these dream-like realities. Over time, uncertainty has escalated, becoming progressively overwhelming. I always questioned what is beyond what seems to be. One day, my cousin accidentally revealed to me I had leukaemia when I was little. The secret is still hidden away from me by my family and doctor to this day (and I have not confronted them either).

While my memories are of certain places, objects, shapes and/or colours directing toward what the cousin said, the more I have tried to actively remember these moments, the more and less vivid they simultaneously have become.

This confusion led me to look for a stable outside source to rely on, in order to process these experiences, because nothing from the inside appeared stable. My artistic interest since has developed to take advantage of fixed rules of mechanics—one particular way of consistent manoeuvre— to unravel an emotional and/or personal human experience.

In this project, I explore the fragility, instability, and fluidity of memories. On one hand, I have photographs that represent the faded memories. I juxtapose them with a tweaked transcribing AI, which starts with an initial text of medical facts about leukaemia including etymology, types, symptoms, causes, diagnosis, treatment, and prognosis. The AI then picks up its own sound along with surrounding sounds that enter through the microphone. Viewers are invited to interact with the work, either consciously or unconsciously. The newly collected words and sounds are incorporated into the existing version of the text and this new version is then read aloud. Over the course of time, the text is altered and distorted, ultimately changing the narratives.

When one remembers something, they are remembering the last time they remembered of an event, not the actual event. Both the photographs and the transcribing AI indicate the constantly shifting nature of memories with the influence of oneself and one’s surrounding factors.

Lastly, Something’s in the Air introduces two scents. Hospital evokes the sense of extended stays and repeat visits to hospital - plastic seats in waiting rooms and bed sheets both fresh and soiled. It is redolent of a succession of long brightly lit corridors where cleaning products try their best to mask the ever present undercurrent of death, disease and bodily fluids making for a visceral and unsettling experience. Childhood is a secret cloaked in a cloud of cotton candy. Like being wrapped in cotton candy seemingly safe and shielded from a reality on the edge of your perception. While enveloping you in a blanket designed to bring comfort, its artificially saccharine nature results in feelings of uncertainty hinting at a vailed world just out of your grasp.

These scents are envisioned to be diffused into the exhibition space, extending the audience's experience from visual to olfactory. By recreating blurred childhood moments through scent, I present a sensory trigger for viewers to immerse themselves in my deeply personal narrative, encouraging them to revisit their own memories. This project reveals how memory is layered, fragile, and shaped by forces within and beyond us, questioning what we truly remember and what remains hidden out of reach.