Hiwa K tells that border officer ask immigrants questions about the map of his hometown. Most immigrants, like anyone who is asked random questions about the geography of their city, fail the test. This story is the inspiration of our project.
We live in small, sparse fragments of our city. The road to school, the bus to our grandmother’s house, the square where time passed relentlessly. Each person has her own city. In this work we investigate this distant memory of an individual’s memory of the city in which they lived.
We looked a map while we heard stories by people who moved from Mexico to the United States, from Syria to Austria, from Bolivia to Argentina. Then we reconstruct this, cutting the trajectory of the eyes on a paper map. Because of its own lightness, this map bends when it leans on wood and forms bridges that connect places that are distant in the city, but close in memory.