I love this so very much…and resonant entirely with your relationship to space and place, home/house as a canvas, and the reckonings of middle age, with heart at their center. Thank you for this, Marta — a balm for my own heart in the mist/midst of some hard times.
I'm so sorry to read of your health! Sending some healing vibes your way. Love the new memories you are creating with your daughter. In my case, and only recently, memories are coming back as the kids get into conversations about family memories of their own growing up and the things we did together. sometimes, in the past, I'd remember thinking, wait, was I there for that? How do I not remember. But the stories from the kids brought back other related memories & then, one night I was playing cards or something, thinking about matching majong tiles and this amazing flood of memories, including lingering answers to questions asked way more than a day ago. At some point I discovered just zoning out on cards, jigsaw puzzles, and majong online allowed my brain to finally process & cohesively render moments I'd been trying to recapture into an understandable memory instead of shards.. They weren't gone, they were shattered. With therapy, finding you as the neurodivergentinsurgent; which helped make so much sense of my life as ND & I appreciate you and your sense of humor so much. So, that and giving my brain a chance to rest enough to process so much at once. I was hilariously hit with the answer to a question my kid asked me at least 2 years ago. (which is when my offspring noticed my overall demeanor changing in curious ways in a good way) And I managed to leave the bad memories in the dust because the good ones are me & the kids, and there are many. Just like helping redecorate with your daughter in the new admin role. I think the good new memories triggered the good old memories. I'm rooting for you there and feel better soon, please.
Marta, this was so beautiful to read. The memory pieces I resonated with too as I was thinking about this so much in my own life. My sister brought up a fond memory recently of days as kids in the shoe store trying shoes on and walking up and down the aisles to see if they fit properly and things like that I forget left to my own devices focusing on the "big" things. She reminds me. So much beauty here though about connectivity, how interwoven our lives become, overcoming, all of it. I'm inspired now to write my own story but thank you for sharing the glimmers of hope at the end and sending so much love and healing your way 💖🙌🏾
Lovely, Marta, esp. the way you employ the color motif to render the relationship between memory/forgetfulness and trauma. I'm reminded of Ambrose Bierce's "The Damned Thing" and Lovecraft's "The Color Out of Space," both of which use the metaphor/fact of "impossible colors:" that is, points in theoretical color space that have no perceptual equivalent in experience. Bierce's story is about a man killed by an invisible monster (i.e., a predatory animal who, like all animals, is opaque, but with an impossible hence imperceptible color, thus invisible. Lovecraft's story is about a meteorite that lands on a farm somewhere bearing a blob of goo of a color so far outside our experience that it was "only by analogy that they called it a color at all." This is one of my favorite lines/concepts in all literature: what the heck is "an analogy to color"? Everything? Nothing? But, then, what is trauma but an everynothing analogy to legible experience?
And yes, yes, yes: *Please* ask your daughter and her housemate if they're willing to let us see pics!
Have been thinking of you often on your journey, it’s always such a treat to read and connect. Thank you for sharing this glorious story, feel a shimmering resonance and rush of excitement at the possibility of other spaces and places in the world anchoring memory unexpectedly (particularly when you’ve been in-movement so often). What a thrill to be able to imagine you could trace the prior paint purchases and map your memories this way! 🎨✨
I used to work in a diy store in the early 90s many lives ago, the paint section was my favourite place to dwell, the paint-mixing section in particular (bar the noise when it went full throttle!).🙇🏽♀️ I still love to wander the aisles of stores which order colours in blankets of display, collecting the little cards for mood boards and simple delight.
Would be one of many who’d also enjoy your picture shares, consent-allowing and no pressure! Also enjoy the journey of your words.
Sending care and healing from across the ocean 💜🌱🌈🥭
Oooo a collection of all the paint colors you’ve ever bought and used in your home(s) would be a great concept for an art piece or an essay???
Maybe that’s how I structure my book!
Yes! A book organized like a color wheel, and readers can mix and match chapters like Goethe's *Theory of Colours*!
I love this so very much…and resonant entirely with your relationship to space and place, home/house as a canvas, and the reckonings of middle age, with heart at their center. Thank you for this, Marta — a balm for my own heart in the mist/midst of some hard times.
thank you so much! ❤️
this piece is so beautiful and sad and it also hums with the colorful, paint-splattering of hopefulness.
i resonate so much w the experience of trauma stealing memory and history… the stolen past poking holes into the garment of identity.
here’s to phoenix rising…and to the echoes of memories found it paint store receipts
This was really beautiful 💚
I'm so sorry to read of your health! Sending some healing vibes your way. Love the new memories you are creating with your daughter. In my case, and only recently, memories are coming back as the kids get into conversations about family memories of their own growing up and the things we did together. sometimes, in the past, I'd remember thinking, wait, was I there for that? How do I not remember. But the stories from the kids brought back other related memories & then, one night I was playing cards or something, thinking about matching majong tiles and this amazing flood of memories, including lingering answers to questions asked way more than a day ago. At some point I discovered just zoning out on cards, jigsaw puzzles, and majong online allowed my brain to finally process & cohesively render moments I'd been trying to recapture into an understandable memory instead of shards.. They weren't gone, they were shattered. With therapy, finding you as the neurodivergentinsurgent; which helped make so much sense of my life as ND & I appreciate you and your sense of humor so much. So, that and giving my brain a chance to rest enough to process so much at once. I was hilariously hit with the answer to a question my kid asked me at least 2 years ago. (which is when my offspring noticed my overall demeanor changing in curious ways in a good way) And I managed to leave the bad memories in the dust because the good ones are me & the kids, and there are many. Just like helping redecorate with your daughter in the new admin role. I think the good new memories triggered the good old memories. I'm rooting for you there and feel better soon, please.
Marta, this was so beautiful to read. The memory pieces I resonated with too as I was thinking about this so much in my own life. My sister brought up a fond memory recently of days as kids in the shoe store trying shoes on and walking up and down the aisles to see if they fit properly and things like that I forget left to my own devices focusing on the "big" things. She reminds me. So much beauty here though about connectivity, how interwoven our lives become, overcoming, all of it. I'm inspired now to write my own story but thank you for sharing the glimmers of hope at the end and sending so much love and healing your way 💖🙌🏾
Lovely. Gave me all the feels
Beautiful post. Thank you for sharing!
Lovely, Marta, esp. the way you employ the color motif to render the relationship between memory/forgetfulness and trauma. I'm reminded of Ambrose Bierce's "The Damned Thing" and Lovecraft's "The Color Out of Space," both of which use the metaphor/fact of "impossible colors:" that is, points in theoretical color space that have no perceptual equivalent in experience. Bierce's story is about a man killed by an invisible monster (i.e., a predatory animal who, like all animals, is opaque, but with an impossible hence imperceptible color, thus invisible. Lovecraft's story is about a meteorite that lands on a farm somewhere bearing a blob of goo of a color so far outside our experience that it was "only by analogy that they called it a color at all." This is one of my favorite lines/concepts in all literature: what the heck is "an analogy to color"? Everything? Nothing? But, then, what is trauma but an everynothing analogy to legible experience?
And yes, yes, yes: *Please* ask your daughter and her housemate if they're willing to let us see pics!
Have been thinking of you often on your journey, it’s always such a treat to read and connect. Thank you for sharing this glorious story, feel a shimmering resonance and rush of excitement at the possibility of other spaces and places in the world anchoring memory unexpectedly (particularly when you’ve been in-movement so often). What a thrill to be able to imagine you could trace the prior paint purchases and map your memories this way! 🎨✨
I used to work in a diy store in the early 90s many lives ago, the paint section was my favourite place to dwell, the paint-mixing section in particular (bar the noise when it went full throttle!).🙇🏽♀️ I still love to wander the aisles of stores which order colours in blankets of display, collecting the little cards for mood boards and simple delight.
Would be one of many who’d also enjoy your picture shares, consent-allowing and no pressure! Also enjoy the journey of your words.
Sending care and healing from across the ocean 💜🌱🌈🥭