Memory-Scapes: Art, Liminality, and the Unfolding Self
Over the years, my art practice has been a deep and evolving exploration of memory—how it shapes us, moves through us, and reveals itself in unexpected ways. What began as a personal inquiry has grown into a larger body of work, touching on involuntary memory, subconscious perception, and the non-linear nature of creative thresholds.
The idea of memory first unfolded for me like a personal palimpsest. It became the core of a body of work on involuntary memory (Memory Thread, see “early work” on my website) drawing inspiration from the writings of Marcel Proust. The Memory Thread body of work was acquired by Medibank Private (mental health section) to be part of their permanent collection. Marcel Proust’s work helped me understand how much of our inner life is shaped by the unconscious—that irrational terrain that often drives us more powerfully than reason.
“Memory-scapes” is a word I invented to describe how memories can feel almost tangible, as if we could look within ourselves and see them. These inner landscapes are full of shadows and layers—a mysterious terrain that invites us to re-member with new eyes.
My art process is rarely linear, and certainly not always rational. In fact, I’ve come to see that artists often reach thresholds—moments of transformation—that are both daunting and full of potential. These thresholds can open up entirely new ways of seeing or making, but they require us to step into the unknown.
British anthropologist Victor Turner, well known for his work on liminality, described this threshold state as an “in-between” space: neither here nor there, but something transitional. It’s a moment when we become especially aware of ourselves—a suspended state between beginning and end.
Jolande Jacobi, a Jungian analyst, offers a powerful description of liminality in her book The Way of Individuation (1967):
"Like a seed growing into a tree, life unfolds stage by stage. Triumphant ascent, collapse, crises, failures, and new beginnings strew the way. It is the path trodden by the great majority of humankind, as a rule unreflectingly, unconsciously, unsuspectingly, following its labyrinthine windings from birth to death in hope and longing. It is hedged about with struggle and suffering, joy and sorrow, guilt and error, and nowhere is there security from catastrophe."
She goes on to warn that avoiding these labyrinthine paths—trying to follow a life that’s “safe” or overly prescribed—can limit our growth:
"Only if the person treads the path bravely and flings him/herself into life, fearing no struggle and no exertion and fighting shy of no experience, will the individual mature his/her personality more fully than the one who is ever trying to keep to the safe side of the road." (Jacobi 1967)
If we don’t risk liminality, we don’t grow. We stay stuck.
Art, like life, invites us to step into the unknown—to engage memory not as a static archive, but as a dynamic, shifting field: layered, mysterious, and alive. Each threshold we cross, each memory we re-member, moves us closer to a fuller expression of ourselves.
Citations/References:
Jolande Jacobi, The Way of Individuation, 1967, Princeton University Press.
Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure, 1969.
Marian Bosch. ‘A New Day’ . Charcoal and Pastel on Arches. 2023
