A memory
I have a strong memory of myself at the age of nine standing on an old stool in my grandmother’s
bright kitchen. A kitchen that was surrounded by the history of her home in Germany. A kitchen with
wooden plank walls, capturing the smell of years of cooking for others. A kitchen that when you
ventured into it you knew, that you were home.
I am standing on that stool and allowing for every word, every sigh, every bit of passion, and so
much of her wisdom, to penetrate into my body.
She reminds me to keep objects, words, adventures and little collections throughout the years
- as if I had found treasure.
When she decided it was time for her to find a different adventure and a new path – she gave
me her old kitchen scale.
I found it in the attic four years ago, and it sparked the idea to look for more stories.
I ventured through flea markets, I touched, and I smelled. And when I found, I listened to stories
that where whispered through the chipped paint, the warn metal, and more than all, the smell
of cooking.
The appliances exited my imagination and I knew that I wanted to capture not only the stories
that were told, but also the form and character that the appliances took upon themselves.
I enjoyed seeing them come into life: a dancer (image #3)– fulfilling his long time dream, a bird
(image #16) – looking for its freedom, a scorpion (image #24)– seeking a mate.
But mostly rested on the idea of having it hold a simple yet pure memory.