Conserving memories

This is my grandfather. He's eighty one years old. Together with my grandmother he lives in a small town, in a house they've lived in for thirty two years. Through the course of time nothing in that house has changed much. All the memories I have of spending time there have been conserved in time quite well. There's still the tiny room upstairs in which my grandfather tried to teach me how to paint. In the living room, the sofa still prickles my bare legs. The same heavy carpet lies on the dinner table. Every hour, their longcase clock plays a tune that's been etched in my mind.

I used to sleep over regularly when I was a child. But when I became older I stopped visiting them as much. Their house lost it's appeal to me. At this point though, I can see them getting older. And I want to know about their history. I want to hear the stories of their youth and see the photo albums they've kept all these years.
And through documenting them, I can keep what is there now.

                                                                              ©  Chrissie Smolders

                                                                                                       ©  Chrissie Smolders

                                                                                                        ©  Chrissie Smolders