I amass an archive through my waking day, often unconsciously, saving visual notes using my phone or computer as I wander through both cyberspace and the real world. It’s hard for me to consciously accept that most of these images will never be seen again, and in that way have an ephemeral nature both in their tangible and digital forms. I catalog to deal with this sense of loss, and perhaps at its root a lack of acceptance. I carefully curate my collages from these finds, sifting through the overwhelming mass of sensory input to pull out points of interest, ultimately allowing me to control my experience of the nostalgic through technological intervention.

I use these collected images to construct new moments, artificial by nature but not completely synthetic- a rehashing of a reality that at one moment in time existed for one individual into something with a second life.

During this process, I must accept the inevitable; even as the master architect of new realities, I cannot pursue all pathways of image combination that I might want- I cannot keep all possible realities ‘alive’ at once. Many times through the building of my digital scapes, the characteristics of the images I work with force my hand in creating entirely new visuals from what existed seconds before. As someone who falls in love with the small moments unfolding before me in a collage, I must balance the exhilaration and heartbreak of progress in leaving some beloved images behind.

A process almost organic; creation and destruction in brief and beautiful sequences, often seen only by myself.

I thought of how every day each of us experiences a few little moments that have just a bit more resonance than other moments—we hear a word that sticks in our mind—or maybe we have a small experience that pulls us out of ourselves, if only briefly—we share a hotel elevator with a bride in her veils, say, or a stranger gives us a piece of bread to feed to the mallard ducks in the lagoon; a small child starts a conversation with us in a Dairy Queen—or we have an episode like the one I had with the M&M cars back at the Husky station.

And if we were to collect these small moments in a notebook and save them over a period of months we would see certain trends emerge from our collection—certain voices would emerge that have been trying to speak through us. We would realize that we have been having another life altogether; one we didn’t even know was going on inside us. And maybe this other life is more important than the one we think of as being real—this clunky day-to-day world of furniture and noise and metal. So just maybe it is these small silent moments which are the true story-making events of our lives.
— Douglas Coupland, Life After God