“But museums also choose what to display, what to let rest in the dark, and what to reveal again under new light.

They’re not mausoleums — they are spaces of loss and rebirth. Alive, even in silence.

We are like that too.

Full of rooms. Piled-up memories. Crookedly hung frames.

Ideas that need to come out of storage.”

We are all, to one degree or another, made of what we call “memory,” not only the bits and pieces of time visible to us in pictures that have hardened with our repeated stories, but also the memories we embody and don’t understand—the smell that carries with it something lost or the gesture or touch of a person who reminds us of another person, or

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