Memories
Rain falls down on memories. Not literally, but in some way for real, enough to cloud and mess up the images that we keep stored in our heads. Dream, reality, real dream and fantasised reality, mixed in a ‘Now’ stamped on paper.
Small details connect us to the reality of the image creased by the rain that falls on the memory. Brings sense to it. And grows. The colours gain hue and contrast and become ours, if they weren’t already. Inside out. We set loose the image. We keep what we reckon important. With wind and with rain, wrinkled.
Gonçalo Cunha de Sá
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