Memory Palace

Friday 9th August I attended the MEMORY PALACE exhibition held at the V&A, London. This wonderful, inspiring and thought-provoking exhibition brought together a showcase of storyboards, film, text and installations  from 20  graphics designers, illustrators and typographers to create a walk in book; inspired by author Hari Kunzru.

With (Hudson, The Telegraph 2013) book sales plummeting and exhibition attendances booming, Memory Palace, part novel, (Wainwright, Guardian 2013) part exhibition of contemporary illustration (and part Sky Arts funded experiment),  is an ambitious and exciting attempt to create a new "experiential reading format for a story", one that authors may consider in the future? Relating the show to my own research, I suggest that the work presents an (Kelly 2011) alternative arrangement of story telling intended to engage the spectator 'performatively' in a temporal sequence of events, within a gallery space. We the readers, the viewers, are able to piece together the story using the physical objects on show to interpret, recreate and construct our own image discourse; in fact the finale is Johnny Kelly's interpretation of the story where the prisoner is allowed to add one of his personal memories to be remembered for future generations. Kelly created a new web-based drawing app that allows us to contribute our own memory to a digital Memory Bank. 

Each week a screenprinted poster of all the memories submitted is added to the exhibition installation. In addition, an ever-growing sea of memories is generated through online submissions, creating a legacy for the project. This is mine, however you would never be able to to find it, but worth a look at what others have posted up...   https://skyartsignitionmemorypalace.com/posters/poster8Low.jpg

Installation by Le Gun

Kunzru story is set in future London, hundreds sof years after the worlds information infrastructure was wiped out by an immense magnetic storm. Technology and knowledge have been lost, and a dark age prevails. Nature has been taken over the ruins of the old city, and power has been seized by a group who enforce a life of extreme simplicity on all citizens. Recording, writing, collecting and art are outlawed. 

The narrator of the story is in prison. he is accused of being a member of a banned sect, who have revived the ancient 'art of memory'. They try to remember as much as they can of the past in a future where forgetting has been official policy for generations. The narrator uses his prison cell as his 'memory palace', the location for the things he has remembered; corrupted fragments and misunderstood details of things we may recognise from our time. He clings to his belief that without memory, civilisation is doomed.

Extract taken from the book 'Memory Palace' p30

When I was first seized by the wolf bands and brought here, I was beaten, then left alone for several days. The only water was in the slop pail. On the third day I was hooded and walked up many flights of stairs. When the hood was taken off, the light was so bright that I couldn't open my eyes. All I could see a figure, Silhouette, and the lght streaming in behind it. To me, so used to cowering in the darkness, he seemed like a lawlord, a god.....

When he asked me my name, I said nothing. He asked again. His voice was low and gentle, like a women's. t sounded too soft, too-civilised for a thane, high official of the Things. Again I did not answer. Then he surprised me.

'what is this terrible enthusiam you have for ideas'

'what?' My voice came out as a craok, a paspery rasp.

'ideas,' he said, 'are not things. They are what you have instead of things. Instead of the good solid wood of this table. Instead of the water I know you care crave'.

And he took a jug and poured out a beaker of  water, began to drink. I watched him drink his fill. I watched beads of moisture run down the beaker. I could feel the breeze on my face. I tried to concentrate on that, the little whisper of good clean air on my face.

'ideas, he said, 'dont quench your thirst. You may think they give you power, but thats a lie. How can an idea have power over matter? they are completely different in kind'....

He poured another glass of water and left it sitting there on the table as he got up and started to pace the room. I knew I mage a wrethed sight. My hands were bound behind my back. I was so weak from thirst and hunger that I could barely stand up...And she raised the cup to my lips. I gulped down water and it ran over my chin and soaked my filthy shirt and it was the most blessed drink I ever had.

Then he must of given command, because men came and took me back to my cell.....