Wednesday, November 27, 2013


acrylic on paper

When the writing of his memoirs became too difficult, Lohbado turned to images. At a loss for words... shapes replaced grammar. With a variety of line, shape and colour, Lohbado worked on his memoirs, until words happened. Every story involves a sequence of before and after. In between before and after, now pulsates. Each now becomes then at the moment it occurs. Once you even say the word now, it's already past. Each picture saved Lohbado a thousand words. As the pictures piled up, Lohbado's memoirs took shape.

Most of now is barely noticed and will be easily forgotten. It will be as though now never even happened. After you die, all that remains is a few distorted, fading memories among a handful of people. What did you expect? Were you hoping for a monument? What part of yourself would you like immortalized?

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