Mano Svanidze

One of my earliest memories is me and my brother laying in the bed, waiting for mum. Moment, when we saw her coming in the room with red nose. Our eye contact of silent understanding that she cried, that mothers do cry. Sometimes.

In my brothers version of these memory mum didn’t came at all.

We think that memories work like a recorder. You just record the information and then bring it back when you need to rebuild concrete picture of the moment. We turn memories over and over without even noticing that we change them. Our memories are constructive. And reconstructive. You can go in there and change it, so can other people. I see something utopian in it.