Notes about “The Geography of Memory,” possibly an ongoing lifelong project.

Why do projects have to be completed? Maybe they can just evolve…

I observe the world, seeking out images, motion, light, colors, and people, while contemplating how to navigate it as observer and participant. I notice the cracks in the painted highway lines, envisioning the abstraction of filming them to create a visual experience akin to an animated expressionist painting. The original white line has disappeared, breaking apart into cloud-like shapes as the black asphalt fractures beneath. Sometimes, these shapes vanish completely only to reemerge, searching for ways to reconnect. They spread apart, never to form the original white line again. They've been trampled upon, driven over, rained on, and scorched by the sun, and the evidence of this wear is visible. Yet, what I perceive is something fresh and exhilarating. As my camera records the fractured line while I walk over it, I become captivated by the swift movements of the shapes. No longer is it merely a white line marking a bike path on a black asphalt surface; it transforms into a stunning image reminiscent of clouds viewed from a plane.

I increasingly feel compelled to live in the moment—a practice that many, including myself, find challenging. Embracing the present has become an essential strategy for survival, productivity, curiosity, and creativity, especially when the future appears bleak and uncertain.

The past has transformed into a rich landscape of secrets, signs, and symbols. Images, sounds, movements, places, tastes, and tactile experiences emerge, a humid day brings back memories of trying to sleep at night when air conditioning was not as common. Or a crisp fleeting breeze that feels just like riding bikes in October on an island in Ireland.

This past is also intricately connected to the body. I can turn my head in a certain way, and suddenly I am transported back to a moment on a hike where I glanced back at my daughter just before I nearly slid down the hill, catching a branch that was strong enough to keep me from falling. My shoes didn’t offer the best traction; the sandy trail was mysteriously slippery. The fear and relief of that moment surge back, along with the memory of her laughter, oblivious to the seriousness of the situation and the height of my fear. I laughed with her to keep her from worrying.

I am collecting these motions—these souvenirs of memory—and connecting them, both for myself and for other movers. Are these memories still intact, or do they shift and transport us to different times and places? How does the act of linking movements create a new narrative of the past?

The "Geography of Memory" project is ongoing. As I delve deeper into isolating, amplifying, and sharing the movements that enhance and unravel what we can remember, the past continues to expand, and the present becomes richer. Is this process reciprocal? Do these recollections shape how we move, influencing the gestures that feel comfortable, hurtful, painful, or joyful?

This project merges archival footage collected over 20 years ago with dance, choreography, and contemporary video recordings, using a variety of formats as parameters to convey the diverse experiences of recollection. One component consists of over 200 Instagram stories, each under a minute long, which have been compiled into a Vimeo showcase. These stories serve as a collection of emotional responses to the intangible moments of our daily lives, framing and illuminating often-overlooked details.

As the project progresses, so do the opportunities and ideas for expanding its presentation and participation. This includes installations featuring films displayed in various spaces, monitors with headphones enabling viewers to choose what they watch and for how long, and QR codes for accessing content on their mobile devices. This ongoing exploration mirrors the nature of memory itself—malleable, elusive, enriched, and adaptable to the ever-changing present, much like the fire that destroyed my home; the past resides within it.

Capturing movement on camera transforms the act of recording into a dance in itself. The camera becomes an extension of my perspective, allowing me to react to and interact with the movements it records, fragments, and omits. As I inhabit the space of the movers, I can explore angles and perspectives rarely visible in live dance performances, adding layers of abstraction and redefining the composition and movement dynamics. As the camera itself moves, it not only captures but also translates motion, adding depth and creating a three-dimensional space. This can transport participants to a world where distance and intimacy coexist.

Additionally, I explore how mundane actions—such as walking, washing dishes, or tucking hair behind an ear—can be transformed into complex, multi-dimensional expressions. These ordinary daily activities are taken out of their usual context to create a mysterious and sophisticated language capable of expressing deeper emotions.

By encouraging the people I work with to learn or develop these gestures independently, we collaboratively build a rich vocabulary that grows in complexity with varied speed, repetition, and scale. This forms the basis of a choreographic language adaptable to my direction, different environments, both solo and group performances, and varying sounds (music, ambient sound, and voice). The participants internalize these movements, weaving them into their personal narratives and interpretations. Our joint efforts result in a collaborative, emotionally nuanced, and intimate exchange that integrates their personal stories with my direction.

My film work not only captures but also frames time, space, and complexity through fragmentation and omission. By achieving the right balance, I open a realm where viewers can unleash their imaginations. I control the duration and extent of movement they see, while repetition underscores the significance of specific motifs or gestures. This technique prompts viewers to remember certain actions, even if they only glimpse the onset—as the movement exits the frame, they instinctively complete it in their minds.

The inherent traces of common actions within the original movements evoke a sense of familiarity, engaging both cognitive and physical memory connections with the audience.