I always saw memory as sort of a hidden story that one has to uncover in order to explore. A story that can be constantly revisited and though it always conains the same plot, the words are different each time. This painting looks like memory to me. The woman stands reaching for something elusive which is right behind her, though transparent and blending into the surroundings. The overgrown garden as well seems to speak to the once categorized experiences that become tangled and confused after being stored for too long. When we journey into our own memories we find a place confused and unsure. Our own face becomes distorted. When I look back at myself in my mind's eye I see myself as I percieve myself, not as I necessairly appear. I remember myself younger, frozen at 17, even when remembering a situation that happened recently. Each person remembers things in a different way. Some use words, others images, sounds and smells can also be used as tools to remember. This, my emotional memory, is stored mainly in images that I can associate with individuals, events, all the memories I need.