TYPE JOURNAL
(SEP. 2020 - PRESENT)
RITUAL
In 1946, for her 8th Grade graduation, this manual typewriter was given to my Grandmother by her parents. Her initials, for Roynola Lois Becker, still decorate the front. My father, her son, wrote all of his school papers on this machine. Now mine, it has been integrated into a ritual of remembrance. A journal, deliberately un-digital, and uniquely present.
CONTINUITY
The paper scroll continues unbroken between increments of human-invented time. Memories, days, months join together to form one physically-connected linear presence. As quickly as I type, the words disappear behind the machine. Some days I write multiple feet, and others barely a few inches. Slowly the cabinet fills with graceful waves of paper.
INACESSIBILITY
We do not have full access to our lived experiences. Some pieces of our past can be easily retrieved at will, while others float up unbeckoned and without warning. Some memories we lose access to completely and by default without ever even being aware of our loss. Looking into the cabinet through the thin pane of glass, the ribbons of written scroll simultaneously reveal and hide. Fragments of thoughts and experiences can be discerned, but only randomly—by accident.
