Mapping her and my vulnerability.

It reminds me.

Of when My flatmate had to go to the hospital during the pandemic. He had a lump in his throat.

And he was in pain.

We rushed to the hospital.

And when I came back home,

I felt the urge to go to his room

and document the moment.

A potato growing in its little pot.

A painting by Yuval Frisch facing the unmade bed.

A mask hanging from the bedsight light.

And I have never shown the photographies to anyone.

Just the fact that there is a mask hanging from this lamp reminds us of the pandemic.

What happens to the archived, those moments and snippets, extolled artefacts.

Now this pandemic is somehow over

and we rush to etch it on our memory

What is now slightly more visible

might be gone once we leave the pandemic behind.

A map, a document, an archive of this crisis

I really wanted to make

this a personal story.

Mapping her and my vulnerability.

Exploring the innermost

we’re not so familiar with

An urge to collect and archive.

Why?