“Memories of the outside world will never have the same tonality as those of home and, by recalling these memories, we
add to our store of dreams; we are never real historians, but always near poets, and our emotion is perhaps nothing but an
expression of a poetry that was lost.” (Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, p.6).
Five years ago, I lost my home. My parents sold the house where I was born, the one I grew up in. They were just
downscaling after retirement. And although I had left home over 20 years ago, when I closed the door on that house, I felt
bitter. My room, the kitchen, the entrance hallway, the garage, the garden behind the building. I was mentally attached to
every part of it. I had always believed I had that place to go back to.
Leaving it was like a funeral.
/ home is a return to my early work, dwelling, made in 2002. Like that work, I made airplanes cruise in my home, this time,
in the house of my childhood. I made them fly out of the room into the corridor and back into the room. I was imagining
the planes flying over our heads in the sky flying into my old living spaces… but eventually I realized that it's not important
for me to be able to see airplanes there or not…
More important is for me to feel the existence of airplanes, of dreams or of illusions, mine, those of my father, those of us
all.
There is something more essential than my cruising airplanes: being able to imagine them. Being able to visualise them,
inside of my head, anywhere, in any home.
Daily life could be based on the imagination with such hopes or even desires, as intangible or ghostlike as they might be…
Our idea of both home and time are grounded in and built on these phantoms.