Super8 (1967-87, 2017), 2017
archival inkjet prints
29” x 65”
In 2017, I received the Super8 film shot by my grandfather between 1967 and 1987. He passed away in 2011, and in 2019 my grandmother was diagnosed with dementia. These reels now function as a record of twenty years of health and prosperity. Of six leading characters: one is gone and one has forgotten. Their four daughters remain to reminisce on contradictory accounts of shared events.
At first I watched these home movies in awe, but soon my eyes wandered from subject to periphery. What laid on the edge of each frame seemed to hold more truth. The act of rephotographing these in-between moments has created an alternate family history that is unrecognizable to those it depicts. Like dementia, Super8 (1967-87, 2017) strips, obscures and reorders the narrative. By questioning the need to record and recall, these stills remind viewers that our memories are fluid and unreliable. It is in the act of recording to remember that we grant ourselves permission to forget.
