Memory Landscapes is my multidisciplinary project that combines archival research, museology, visual art, and writing on collective memory manipulation, nostalgia, and the role of museums and memorials at the sites of Europe's traumatic past. So far I define it as ongoing, because I continue dedicating my time to reflecting on the topic of what can actually constitute a recollection, serve as a primer or memory aid, what or who is able to remember and pass a memory further on.
Following my interest in this growing set of questions, I am still adding new chapters moving on from the initial impulse to write about memory of nature towards the necessity to rethink Antropocene (human-centered memory production) and learn from the ancient preliterary, more nature-based cultures, where stones and trees could actually contain memories. Anyone who ever had a chance to walk around 3,000 standing stones of Carnac would agree that this statement is only partly a metaphor.
But back in 2022, as I came to Berlin as an ICORN Fellow, it certainly did not start with such long-lasting ambitions. The intial idea of the project was conceived in January 2023 during a rather unplanning visit to the memorial in Dachau, Germany - the place that deeply touched me in every possible sense. But what also attracted my attention there were poplar trees growing there, almost unchanged, since the Nazi times, unlike many other structures demolished after 1945 and then rebuilt - already as a part of the newly made memory site. The inner urge to reflect, contact and interact with the nature of the places of traumatic past brought me to eventually visit 19 of them (in Germany, Austria, Poland, Italy, Lithuania, the Netherlands and Montenegro), collecting information about these countries' memorial politics, sometimes contacting activists or the dwellers of the neighbouring towns.
My search was only partly intuitive - what took me to the first three camps was a rationally inexplicable wish to learn more about Antonio (Anton) Bubich, a teenage boy, former prisoner, who I shared my last name with.