Att lämna avtryck – En undersökning av trycktekniker och minnen
It often happens that I, through a color, a motif or an object end up in a memory of something or someone. Mainly of things that another person created and had thought about. Things that are made by hand carry history and presence and I usually become sentimentally attached to these just because they are left imprints of someone who once created.
There is a curiosity in me of what we choose to surround ourselves with in our homes, in our everyday life and what things that remain after a person passes away. Which things are going through the history and why? Does the story disappear when the narrator is no longer here or can the object carry on the story?
In this project, I have investigated the presence of the hand in different printing techniques, the care of a craft and its importance. Based on motifs from my childhood memories, I have created patterns to preserve something that will not return but that one can visit sometimes. A memory to rest in.
In the patterns, they are preserved and becomes impressions from my history.
Excerpt from the written memory “On my great Grandfathers attic” by Pauline Nolegård
“There were many times when I was a child that I wondered what was in my grandfather’s attic, but as long as he lived I never went up there.
My great grandfather lived in a red painted house with white knots(corners?) next to the forest close to my grandma and grandpa. He had a long white beard and looked just like the Santa on bookmarks. I wasn’t that old when he was alive, but I still remember how exciting it was to visit him. In addition to looking like Santa himself, he also had several fine horses and a dog called Bamse. Bamse always barked loudly when we parked and it scared me. He was quite a small dog, but I remember being very afraid of him anyway. When you stepped through the door, you came straight into the kitchen where great-grandfather had lit a fire in the iron stove. There was a slight smell of smoke so the doors to the other rooms were often closed but at some point it had been open so I knew roughly what it looked like inside. We used to sit on blue cantilever chairs around the table next to the window and munch on fika bread that my brother and I had been allowed to choose from a bakery on the way there…”