We are landed with fallible, frailty, imperfect memories. Nonetheless, confusion over sources or indifference to them can be a paradoxical strength: it allows us to see and hear with other eyes and ears, to enter into other minds, to contribute to the common mind. Memories are… unlike Proust’s jars of preserves in a larder, but are transformed, disassembled, reassembled with every act of recollection; they are dialogic. Hence perhaps our only truth is narrative truth, the stories we tell each other and ourselves—the stories we continually recategorize and refine.
In Lewes, the town where the country’s biggest annual bonfire festival commemorating the Guy Fawkes night is said to take place, the local societies’ banners read “we burn to remember”.
(Photos taken in Lewes, East Sussex, UK, 2013)