A temporary post about the impermanence of time
Mother hates pictures on walls.
Those heavy bordered images, those witnesses to nostalgia, those framed ancient lives. She tells me that all of her childhood she walked through those elaborate passages in old mansions, through elegant corridors of family houses, by those thick walls that relay whispers through generations.
And now when she sees any photograph of old times on new walls, all she is reminded of is the fall of dynasties, of decadence, of crumbling arcade of past lives.
These frames stand for all that gets lost, of all that turns to dust, of everything that breaks apart, of all that cannot hold, of sentimentality of past grandeur that gets sold. Over and over again.
Mother loves blank walls with big round clocks.
#time #impermanence #lifestories #walkoftime #narrative