balloons, memory and lining

"I will have spent my life trying to understand the function of
remembering, which is not the opposite of forgetting, but rather
its lining."

- Chris Marker, Sans soleil

a thought experiment

imagine a balloon called memory, and each molecule of air inside the balloon as a specific recollection. imagine our lungs as our bodies, and the breath inside the lungs as the very substance of our lives:

image from Flaming Lips concert

as we exhale, the balloon grows larger and larger, filling up with all the details of experience. some memories are full, giant balloons that tower over us and block out any hope of seeing what lies directly in front of us:

some memories are empty, flaccid balloons that lie limp and meaningless, so thin that it's as if the moments they recall never really happened at all:

everything we think we remember is merely the lining of the things we have forgotten:

image from Sans soleil

i have spent some time with this statement, and it seems to me that the balloon is an artifice, an arbitrary limit imposed by the mind in an attempt to confine experience. no matter how large the balloon grows, no matter how many accurate details we pack inside, it is always overwhelmed by all the things we do not remember:

one man's personal blimp, note the countryside and empty sky

sometimes, our memories trap us:

sometimes, our memories devour us:

the memory of Paul von Hindenburg

sometimes, our memories remind us of things that never were:

image from Le ballon rouge

to be continued...