The artifacts, the objects, are important to me because I need to touch something, hold in my hand part of the life I think might be half-imagined. Even with an object in my hand, these lives remain ephemeral to me. The lives themselves are always real, a matter of record, simple facts of history. What these lives meant, what they might be beyond what they were is always… always a matter of imagination. I’ve taken some solace in the fact that many great discoveries begin with imagination.
It doesn’t matter to me that the objects themselves don’t prove anything. I cling to them.