lovechaos19pictureThere is this song from my youth that goes: “there are only moments in life that are important” it comes back to me now and then, as if because what we remember are moments, our memory makes us compose our life from Lego like pieces of these moments, well processed, well interpreted, many times. On the other hand our memory is often false, remember moments as if these were indeed photographs. What do you get if you look at someone else photographs, have you ever found an unknown photo-album of an unknown person in an unknown place? hat were you able make out of it, what was the story you were able to master? Maybe there are moments, but maybe not the ones we can remember, recognise, learn, analyse - because they are so insignificant and image-less?