Polaroids is a sequence of images in which a narrative appears to take shape — only to unravel as fabrication. At first glance, the work suggests continuity, cause and effect, a story unfolding in fragments. Yet closer inspection reveals the instability of this construction: the narrative is not discovered but imposed, a fiction generated by the viewer’s compulsion to assemble meaning from fragments.
The images themselves are a composite of found material and manipulated family photographs. Their altered surfaces echo the faltering mechanics of memory — where time erodes clarity, details blur, and revisions accumulate with each act of recall. What remains is not a faithful document but a palimpsest of distortions, projections, and erasures.
In this sense, Polaroids becomes less about photography than about the unreliability of memory as archive. The work stages the slippage between truth and invention, showing how the accumulation of years transforms memory into myth, and myth into false certainty. It asks whether memory preserves or betrays, whether images capture what was, or whether they merely confirm the stories we have already told ourselves.
Polaroids is both elegy and exposure: an investigation of how narrative persists in the absence of truth, and how the intimate act of remembering is always already an act of forgetting.
