Adam

 Scher  
Writing  and  Research  
October  7,  2010  
 
REMEMBERING  AND  FORGETTING    
“Memory  about  something  is  only  as  good  as  your  last  memory  about  it.”  –  Gordon  
Bell1  
 
IMPETUS  
When  I  was  thirteen  I  was  faced  with  the  unfortunate  and  challenging  experience  of  
loosing  my  mother.  However,  this  paper  is  not  about  death  or  my  mourning  process.  
In  contrary,  this  paper  aims  to  explore  how  I  have  relied  on  my  memory  and  
personal  artifacts,  to  recreate  my  experiences  of  this  past.  My  mother  is  simply  a  
catalyst  for  the  beginning  of  this  story,  as  my  memories  of  her  are  most  cherished.  
 
Throughout  the  past  fourteen  years  following  her  death,  I  have  been  struggling  with  
the  realization  that  as  time  passes  my  memories  of  her  lose  specificity.    There  are  
certain  events  that  stand  out  as  landmarks  in  my  mind,  but  there  is  a  huge  part  of  
my  memory  that  remains  vague.    In  these  pockets  of  my  mind  there  are  blurred  
images  of  her  face  and  the  muffled  sound  of  her  voice.  For  me,  these  memories  are  
timeless  and  filled  with  emotion.    
 
I  worry  about  forgetting.  As  time  passes,  and  my  memories  lose  precision,  I  wonder  
how  to  best  preserve  these  moments.  I  have  my  photographs,  videos,  and  letters  to  
remind  me  of  the  specific  details  that  may  have  been  lost  throughout  the  years.    
However,  these  mementos  inform,  rather  than  assist,  my  memory.  If  I  had  never  
seen  a  photograph  of  my  mother  since  her  death,  would  I  still  remember  what  she  
looked  like?  Am  I  remembering  the  memory  or  the  artifact?  
 

                                                                                                               
1  Bell,  Gordon.  Total  Recall.  New  York:  Penguin  Group,  2009.  

 
Modern  technology  allows  us  to  save  mass  amounts  of  data,  thus  assisting  us  in  the  
process  of  remembering  almost  everything.  Through  a  combination  of  digital  and  
analog  media  I  have  developed  a  series  of  fine  art  pieces  that  comment  on  the  
process  of  remembering  and  forgetting.  These  works  attempt  to  explore  the  mind’s  
ability  to  remember  and  the  way  our  personal  computers  process  data,  investigating  
the  ways  we  use  technology  to  remember.  
 
INSPIRATIONS  /  PRECEDENTS  
Jim  Campbell:  Photo  of  My  Mother,  19962  
In  his  series  Memory  Pieces,  Jim  Campbell  explores  the  notion  memory  through  
inherent  bodily  rhythm  and  personal  artifacts.  His  specific  work,  Photo  of  My  
Mother,  uses  his  breathing  as  the  “memory”  which  alters  the  viewer’s  perception  of  
a  photograph.  Campbell  previously  recorded  himself  breathing  for  one  hour.  The  
duration  of  each  recorded  breath  is  then  used  to  alter  a  piece  of  fogged  glass  in  front  
of  the  photograph.  With  each  breath,  the  glass  becomes  foggy  and  then  transparent,  
simulating  the  act  of  breathing  upon  a  glass  surface.  
 
What  Campbell  has  achieved  is  a  dual  commentary.  In  one  sense,  he  reminds  us  that  
our  memories  of  certain  things  become  “foggy”  over  time.  He  also  speaks  to  the  
inherent  routines  that  our  body  completes.  We  never  have  to  remember  to  breath,  it  
simply  happens  naturally.  For  me,  this  duality  is  powerful.  This  piece  makes  me  
question  if  I  have  any  control  over  what  I  will  remember  or  forget.  Perhaps  my  body  
subconsciously  makes  it  own  decisions.  
 
Rafael  Lozano-­Hemmer  :  Under  Scan,  20053  
How  can  someone’s  existence  in  a  certain  place  be  documented  and  revisited?  I  
believe  this  is  one  of  the  core  questions  of  Rafael  Lozano-­‐Hemmer’s  interactive  
                                                                                                               
2  “Memory  Work  Series:  Photo  of  My  Mother,”  Portfolio  of  Jim  Campbell,  accessed  

October  1,  2010,  “http://jimcampbell.tv/portfolio/objects/memory_works/  

photo_of_my_mother/”.  
3  “Under  Scan,”  Rafael  Lozano-­‐Hemmer  accessed  October  1,  2010,  

http://www.lozano-­‐hemmer.com/under_scan.php.  
installation  Under  Scan.  Installed  in  a  public  plaza,  Lozano-­‐Hemmer  sets  up  an  
elaborate  system  of  cameras  and  projectors  to  create  this  interactive  experience.  As  
people  walk  through  the  space,  the  cameras  are  able  to  detect  the  public’s  
movement.    The  program  is  able  to  predict  where  people  will  be  in  the  future  and  
places  projections  within  their  paths.  Portraits  of  other  people  are  scaled  and  
aligned  to  be  displayed  inside  the  shadows  of  the  public.  One  is  then  able  to  explore  
the  space,  looking  for  the  “hidden”  projections  of  other  people.  
 
The  installation  is  dependent  on  its  viewers  to  activate  the  space.  I  find  this  idea  
exciting,  engaging  a  dialogue  through  the  relationship  between  the  viewer  and  the  
media.    In  addition,  the  interaction  encourages  the  audience  to  question  the  space  
and  people  who  have  occupied  it  previously.    Information  about  the  past  is  learned  
through  present  exploration.    
 
Patrick  Lidell4  
Musician  Patrick  Lidell,  decided  to  partake  on  an  experiment.  He  recorded  a  video  
using  his  computer’s  webcam,  uploaded  it  to  YouTube,  and  then  downloaded  it.  He  
repeated  this  process  1,000  times,  achieving  some  very  interesting  results.  YouTube  
uses  a  certain  codec  when  uploading  content,  and  this  compresses  both  the  video  
and  audio  components  of  the  file.  With  each  download,  the  file  became  more  
compressed,  loosing  pieces  of  its  information.  By  the  1,000th  download  all  definition  
is  lost.  The  video  is  a  blur  of  colored  shapes  where  all  of  the  pixels  blend  into  one  
another.  The  audio  too  is  completely  distorted,  creating  a  cacophony  of  muffled  
tones  and  noise.  
 
I  find  the  results  to  be  fascinating.    The  piece  itself  speaks  to  massive  amount  of  
content  that  our  society  is  sharing  online.    We  choose  to  post  content  so  that  it  can  

                                                                                                               
4  “What  Does  a  Video  Look  Like  After  1000  YouTube  Uploads?,”  Gawker,  accessed  

October  1,  2010,  http://gawker.com/5554154/what-­‐does-­‐a-­‐video-­‐look-­‐like-­‐after-­‐

1000-­‐youtube-­‐uploads.  
be  immortalized  and  preserved.  We  believe  that  what  we  upload  is  being  presented  
in  the  form  that  we  intended,  but  in  fact  the  content  is  being  slowly  destroyed.    
 
PROTOTYPES  
iChats:  Conversations  A-­Br  
Since  2005  I  have  been  using  online  chatting  as  a  major  means  of  communication  
between  me  and  my  family,  friends  and  colleagues.    There  is  something  effortless  
about  sending  a  quick  message  via  the  Internet,  as  it  usually  gets  an  immediate  
response.    I  think  it  is  fair  to  say  that  I  chat  with  at  least  a  dozen  people  a  day,  every  
day.    My  computer  automatically  saves  every  chat  into  a  folder  on  my  desktop,  filing  
away  the  contents  of  my  cyber  interactions  into  my  hard  drive’s  500  gigabytes  of  
memory.    
 
I  made  a  conscious  decision  5  years  ago,  to  have  my  computer  save  these  chats,  but  
why?  I  have  hardly  ever  gone  through  them  and  read  their  contents,  and  even  when  
I  do,  I  don’t  remember  having  the  conversations.    Re-­‐reading  them  is  like  
experiencing  them  for  the  first  time.  I  question  the  importance  of  all  of  this  
“documented  history”,  because  I  am  unable  to  recollect  any  of  it.    
 
iChat  conversations  A  –  Br  is  a  printed  alphabetical  log  of    these  saved  conversations.  
The  chats  are  printed  at  4  points,  in  0.5-­‐inch  columns  3.5  feet  in  length.  The  columns  
span  10  feet,  creating  quite  a  large  visual  record  of  a  small  portion  of  my  
conversations.  I  am  accustomed  to  only  viewing  my  current  iChats,  and  perhaps  
seeing  several  conversations  at  one  time.  The  magnitude  of  seeing  all  of  these  
records  printed  in  their  entirety  is  powerful.  In  front  of  me  is  proof  of  thousands  of  
interactions  I  have  had  with  people  over  the  past  5  years,  and  I  remember  almost  
none  of  the  content.    This  notion  is  mirrored  in  the  fact  that  the  conversations  
themselves  are  almost  illegible.    The  small  font  size  abstracts  the  text,  presenting  the  
conversations  as  a  wash  of  experiences  rather  than  a  specific  detailed  account.  
 
Silhouetting  The  Past  
Having  a  background  in  dance  and  the  performing  arts,  it  is  important  for  me  to  
explore  memory  in  regards  to  physical  movement  in  space.    I  have  always  been  
fascinated  with  the  notion  that  dance  is  fleeting;  a  motion  occurs  and  it  is  gone.    My  
intention  was  to  explore  visualizing  the  “history”  of  my  movements.  Can  my  physical  
memory  be  documented  and  used  to  express  my  feelings  about  the  past?  
 
Using  Max  MSP/Jitter,  a  programming  language  that  specializes  in  processing  video  
and  live  feeds,  I  developed  an  interactive  application.    The  program  is  able  to  detect  
when  something  is  moving  in  front  of  a  set  up  camera.  A  projection  is  then  shown  
through  the  silhouette  of  the  moving  object.  When  there  is  no  movement  detected,  
nothing  plays.  I  chose  a  home  video  of  me  dancing  to  be  the  content  of  the  
projection.  In  a  sense,  I  am  able  to  see  the  movement  of  the  past  only  through  my  
present  movements.  
 
After  developing  this  program,  I  wasn’t  sure  that  my  intentions  would  be  clear  if  it  
existed  as  an  interactive  public  installation.  I  decided  that  I  wanted  it  to  exist  as  a  
performance.    I  set  up  the  projector  and  camera  on  my  roof,  so  that  the  projections  
would  play  on  a  large  blank  wall.  I  then  recorded  myself  improvising  with  the  
technology.    The  image  becomes  recursive  because  the  camera  is  recording  what  is  
being  projected.  With  each  duplication,  the  projected  image  becomes  smaller  and  
farther  removed  from  the  original  source,  implicating  its  durational  difference  from  
the  initial  action.  
 
While  my  main  subject  of  interest  lies  in  my  relationship  to  my  memories,  this  
particular  piece  raised  questions  about  performance.  The  event  of  making  the  video  
was  in  fact  a  performance,  but  is  the  final  video  a  documentation  of  my  experiences  
or  a  performance  in  itself?  
 
Self-­Portrait  
I  was  sitting  in  my  computation  class  last  week,  when  my  professor  said  something  
that  blew  my  mind.  As  a  tangential  thought,  he  mentioned  that  certain  audio  
software  could  open  up  specific  image  file  types  and  play  the  information  as  if  it  
were  sound  data.  I  found  this  concept  to  be  fascinating,  I  wondering  how  it  could  
apply  to  the  work  I  have  been  doing  thus  far.  The  initial  question  is  raised  was,  
“What  do  these  photographic  memories  sound  like?”  
 
I  began  by  taking  a  picture  of  myself  at  6  or  7  years  old.  It  is  one  of  those  formal  
studio  shots,  with  the  generic  set  background.  I  scanned  the  photograph,  opened  it  
up  in  Photoshop  and  re-­‐saved  it  in  .raw  format.  I  was  then  able  to  bring  this  .raw  file  
into  Audacity  (an  open  source  audio  editing  program)  and  listen  to  it.  Initially  it  
sounds  almost  as  if  a  robot  were  grinding  its  teeth,  crunchy  and  mechanical  with  a  
tinny  timber,  so  I  experimented  with  slowing  down  the  duration  of  the  sound  file.  
When  played  at  800%  slower  than  the  original  speed,  a  slight  melody  appears.    I  was  
able  to  listen  what  my  7-­‐year-­‐old  self  looked  like.  
 
This  process  made  me  wonder  if  I  could  achieve  a  similar  effect  by  performing  the  
exact  opposite  process.  Would  I  be  able  to  create  an  image  from  sounds  from  the  
past?    I  only  own  one  cassette  tape,  and  it  is  of  me  singing  “Somewhere  Out  There”  
around  the  same  time  that  the  portrait  I  used  was  taken.    I  felt  that  this  would  be  the  
perfect  content  to  use.    I  was  able  to  easily  convert  the  song  on  the  tape  to  an  .mp3  
by  plugging  a  stereo  patch  cord  into  my  computer  from  the  tape  player.  I  then  used  
Audacity  to  convert  the  .mp3  into  .raw  format,  which  was  then  opened  in  Photoshop  
in  order  to  see  what  the  audio  looked  like.  As  expected,  the  image  is  an  abstracted  
portrait  of  black  and  white  “snow”.  
 
When  paired  together,  the  two  visual  portraits  with  their  respective  audio  
components  create  a  poignant  commentary.  The  abstracted  components  of  each  
self-­‐portrait  are  in  a  sense  composed  of  the  digital  essence  of  the  original  artifact.  I  
believe  they  speak  to  the  idea  that  what  we  remember  might  not  be  the  actual  
account.  We  tend  to  recreate  moments  based  on  what  we  feel  and  think  they  were,  
but  in  actuality  they  may  be  composed  of  something  completely  different.      
 
15  Color  Copies  
We  have  become  dependant  on  software  and  hardware  to  save  and  share  our  most  
precious  moments.  I  question  the  effectiveness  of  modern  technology  in  the  
preservation  of  these  memories.  I  believe  that  similarly  to  the  way  in  which  our  
minds  process,  these  digital  artifacts  will  loose  fidelity  with  time.    
 
I  began  my  experimenting  with  tangible  photographs  that  hold  important  
significance  to  me.  I  chose  several  pictures  of  my  parents  and  grandparents  and  laid  
them  out  on  my  photocopie.  I  made  a  copy  and  then  made  a  copy  of  that  copy.  
 
By  manually  generating  photocopies  of  a  photocopied  photograph,  I  was  been  able  
to  rid  any  trace  of  the  original  image.  Throughout  each  subsequent  copy,  the  image  
loses  its  form  until  all  that  is  left  is  a  blank  sheet  of  paper.  I  expected  the  images  to  
become  washed  out  with  each  copy,  loosing  their  color  and  detail.  However,  a  very  
interesting  thing  occurred  with  each  version.  The  images  at  the  bottom  of  the  
photocopy  started  to  disappear  and  the  images  at  the  top  moved  lower  on  the  page.  
The  15th  photocopy  left  me  with  a  blank  white  piece  of  paper.  I  found  the  results  to  
be  poetic,  subtly  commenting  on  the  idea  that  our  mind  slowly  forgets  what  it  has  
once  remembered.  Despite  its  disappearance,  one  can  still  recreate  the  original  
image  by  remembering  the  photocopies  that  proceeded.    I  am  interested  in  the  
accuracy  of  this  mental  recreation.  Are  details  retained,  or  is  it  simply  a  recollection  
of  form  and  shape?  
 
Save/Save-­As  
I  am  currently  in  the  process  of  scanning  all  of  my  photographs  because  I  think  it  is  
important  for  me  to  have  digital  copies  of  these  irreplaceable  reminders  of  the  past.  
During  the  process  of  digitizing  all  of  this,  questions  of  safety  arose.  Similarly  to  15  
Color  Copies,  Save/Save-­As  explores  the  preservation  of  our  digital  files.    
 
I  opened  a  scanned  photograph  of  my  mother  in  Adobe  Photoshop  and  created  a  
duplicated  version  by  using  the  “Save  As”  function.  In  theory,  this  should  create  an  
exact  replica  of  the  scanned  file.  However,  Photoshop  compresses  the  image  in  such  
a  way  that  it  only  retains  the  most  important  data,  thus  reducing  its  file  size  by  a  
very  minimal  amount.  I  then  opened  the  duplicated  file  and  repeated  this  process.  
After  creating  300  subsequent  duplicates,  it  becomes  very  obvious  that  certain  
pieces  of  information  are  being  removed  from  the  JPG.  The  remaining  image  looks  
as  if  strips  of  color  have  been  taken  out  of  it.  In  some  areas  the  degradation  is  dense,  
while  in  others  the  original  image  remains  perfectly  in  tact.  
 
How  does  Photoshop  choose  which  information  is  important  it  compression  
process?  I  have  no  answer  to  this,  as  my  research  in  image  compression  and  file  size  
has  not  been  in  depth.  What  interests  me  are  two  fold.  First,  is  the  metaphorical  
similarity  between  the  way  that  Photoshop  and  our  mind’s  process  information  in  
repetition.  Certain  details  are  lost  and  distorted,  while  the  “important”  information  
remains  in  tact.  Second,  is  the  notion  that  what  we  depend  on  isn’t  so  dependable.  
Granted  many  people  will  not  perform  a  “save  as”  function  on  a  document  300  
times,  but  I  am  sure  people  would  be  surprised  to  find  out  that  the  more  you  save  it  
the  more  it  deteriorates.  The  process  that  we  use  to  store  and  protect  or  digital  
memories  is  actually  not  as  secure  as  we  thought.  
 
CONCLUSION/REFLECTION  
  •    Already  have  developed  a  wide  variety  of  different  prototypes  
  •    Enjoy  working  with  a  wide  range  of  media  
  •    Want  to  place  iChat  in  public  space  and  see  how  people  interact  with  it  
  •    Explore  ways  to  user  test  the  work  
•  Create  something  interactive  that  explores  memories  of  people  other  than  
myself