Ghost in a Shell: the Dissection of my Memory Palace

Ghost in a shell: the dissection of my memory palace

Maxime Berets Studio Drawing Architecture Riet Eeckhout Faculty of Architecture Campus Sint-Lucas Brussels 2020-2021

Ghost in a shell: the dissection of my memory palace

Maxime Berets Studio Drawing Architecture Riet Eeckhout Faculty of Architecture Campus Sint-Lucas Brussels 2020-2021

Spatial memories, whilst being a rich repository for imagination, are often unreliable in terms of the sequence and shape of things. This project seeks to activate and celebrate these space-events, specifically in relation to my childhood home. These spatial memories, when revived, bring forth qualities and atmospheres that blur the boundary between the tangible and the imaginative.

Through drawing, I explore the different atmospheres and conditions that are connected to objects from my home, in specific the wooden cupboard. These drawings can be seen in the broadest sense and follow different steps to come closer to my surroundings. The process starts with wrapping the objects, and using frottage technique to draw out its surface. Finally removing the skins and setting them free in the wind, releasing them from their original conventions. These artefacts have formed a base for further exploration through tracings and drawings based on photographs or memories.

These recollected fragments as a whole form an infrastructure of spatial conditions and atmospheres.

As the drawings slowly become subject to speculation, they try to grasp the unstable order of space-events.

They portray the space that lives between the physical and the imagination.

Before we enter this story, I would like to thank everyone who has guided me through this work: Riet Eeckhout, for her consistent feedback concerning her broad skill set. For her encouragement all year through, and pushing me further than I could imagine.

My friends, for the brainstorming sessions, reading through my drafts, and sharing fun moments outside of dissertation work.

My parents, for unconditional support, both intellectually and financially. It brought me to the place where I am today, and I could not be more proud of that.

Introduction

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My Home

Experiences of Spatial Memory

Surgical Space Inhabitation Chronicles of the Cupboard I

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Close Encounters/Caress

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Turning Point of the Two Forces

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Chronicles of the Cupboard II

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Chronicles of the Cupboard III

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The Collapse of Recollected Reality

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Retrospection Island

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References

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Heidi Bucher in Raume sind Hüllen, sind Häute

“Ich war das, was mich umgeben hat.”10

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My Home This story starts in the house that I grew up in. For almost twenty years, I have lived in my parents’ house, located in a calm, mid-sized village in the south of the Netherlands. A classic, two-under one roof structure with brick façade. Little by little, slight adaptations have been made over the years, to host more space for the family that continued to grow after I was born.

The home by definition means something different to every individual, as it relates to the surroundings we find ourselves in.

Even after moving out, I still consider my parents’ house as my home. My home feels quiet, it sits in a residential area where the loudest noise would be children playing outside or neighbours chatting. My home also feels light.

The living room looks out on the garden and the cream, textured walls are flooded by sunlight all day long. There is a lot of wood and leather. Wooden floors, wooden tables, wooden cabinets; leather chairs. The house has always felt small; I remember sharing a bedroom with my little brother when there was not enough space yet.

While the house has grown bigger over the years, we all have grown bigger ourselves. The upper floor has always felt small, but it is also flooded with sunlight. I do not remember the outlook of our windows as anything else than neighbouring houses, neighbouring gardens and greens. As our house has always been surrounded by trees and grass, the green has also become a part of home. An experience that has grown even bigger now that I live in a big city.

The question arises, if it is possible to revisit and activate those experiences that partly sit in the mind, that are no longer accessible, or only accessible to a certain extent.

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Ghost in a Shell: The Dissection of my Memory Palace

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Experiences of Spatial Memory These are all experiences of my home, tangible ones, physical ones, concretely speaking. But the idea of home also sits in non-materialistic qualities. This definition can change, grow in complexity, while we progress through life and come across different environments.

We recursively encounter objects and structures within these environments, and in that sense we develop a relationship with them. My home has become an armature that I have left traces and memories on, sticky and magnetic. Memories accumulate over time, layer after layer, and attach themselves onto objects.

These experiences form a collage of fragments, smells, conditions of light, feelings of intimacy, and eventually become part of the complex structure of one’s idea of home. Specifically, the environment of the object ensures spatial recollection; textures of floors and walls, the room that the object is in, the people who live in the specific room, other objects in the room, the moments of encounter with the object. The recollection of these spaces and rooms that the object sits in, generates the recall of events and people. These recollections, however, cannot be seen as absolute properties. They become affected over time, making them flexible and fluid phenomena. Time, in that sense, influences the point of view from which the spatial memory is built. It affects our perception of the scale of things; rooms that feel extremely large as a child, feel small when revisited as an adult. It affects the saturation of colours, textures, because the textures of the object itself have faded or they have once seemed brighter in your mind. An object can lose memory, fade, by the absence of those who surrounded the object and ensured the inhabitation of recollections. The loss of someone who populates the projected memories of an object, can generate the fading of memory. The rediscovery of an object that has been lost, on the other hand, can suddenly evoke forgotten memories. We could argue that this is a process that works both ways. We surround ourselves with object and place, object and place inhabit our memories as long as we surround them. We cling onto seemingly insignificant objects, but they claim a proof of life lived, in case a time comes when it is needed.

As Pallasmaa (2007) states: “Memory and fantasy, recollection and imagination, are related and they have always a situational and specific content. One who cannot remember can hardly imagine because memory

is the soil of the imagination. Memory is also the ground of self identity; we are what we remember.“6 The ongoing projection of memories on our surroundings and objects, ensured by the people who surround us, form a construct of constant interaction and exchange.

But the moment we are threatened by the loss of those who ensure these interactions, or removed from the physical site we projected these memories on, the importance of recollection becomes increasingly substantial. We cling onto seemingly insignificant objects, as they claim a proof of life lived, in case a time comes when it is needed. There is a fear for the fading memory, a need to preserve these objects, the terror of essentially losing something that only lives inside you.

As memory fades, imagination grows, and we start filling in the blank spaces of lost images. The spatial memory that is embedded in the associations when we think about home, is one that sits both in our physical and imaginative environment. There is both truth and imagination in how we recollect these traces. Some components might be clear, while others remain fragmented. But even the blank spaces have to suffice as the truth, because who is to prove otherwise?

Pallasmaa, J. (2007). Space, Place, Memory and Imagination: The Temporal Dimension of Existential Space.

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Berets, M. (2019). Architectural Cosmetics. Studio Surrender/Resistance, KU Leuven.

Berets, M. (2019). Architectural Cosmetics. Studio Surrender/Resistance, KU Leuven.

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Surgical Space The evocation and activation process of the recollections from my home requires a closeness to my surroundings. This practice commences in the meditative act of skinning these surroundings, specifically furniture, doors, walls11. The process allows a certain performativity that the object cannot embody.

We consider its truth in daily encounters, but the skins reduce the dimensions and weight to a uniform surface.

The skins unify the surfaces of the object, while creating a disconnection as body, interior and exterior become separated from its original anatomy.

Covering, wrapping, denying use or muting the object, rubbing, drying, cutting, peeling, releasing. These recursive actions guide me through different stages of bonding with the fragments; observing and claiming them. The moment of coverage causes a moment to freeze in time, generating a muted object, passive in its performance. Marks or traces are made of the element, the skin unifying it to a drawing. It is the technique that attracts me to these apparitions. The marks on the skins are dictated by chance, as much as by choice and emerge onto the surface of the paper. The drawing becomes part of the maker, as much as it is part of the object. The process allows me to let go of its obvious conventions as a piece of furniture, and become aware of its qualities brought to the surface.

Removing the wrapping evokes a sense of mourning, as I become aware of the presence of the object and the fact that the conditions will never go back to that instance of appearances. When the skin has shedded, all that is left is the shell which somehow relates to its original body, but yet again is not. It has been eliminated from its transience. Skinned fragments of my home appear autonomous as they are disconnected from it and made more abstract. It reforms in its own matter, contains form, yet it embodies no form.

Close Encounters/Caress, videostill (own work) 11

Berets, M. (2021). Close Encounters/Caress. https://vimeo.com/525759365

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Close Encounters/Caress, videostill (own work)

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Close Encounters/Caress, videostill (own work)

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Do Ho Suh, Rubbing/Loving Project: Kitchen, Apartment A, 348 West 22nd Street, New York, NY 10011, USA (2014)

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Es Devlin, Betrayal by Harold Pinter (1998)

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Inhabitation Compiling a set of artefacts generates an activation and celebration of my memories. The accumulation and stacking become a fundamental and essential operation of stimulation on the one hand, and loss on the other hand. The collection of drawings do not only provide permanence for things that are impermanent, they slowly become subject to speculation. By manipulating scale, alternating between perspectives and reviving atmospheres, the recollections become corrupted and re-imagined. The fluidity of the memory allows for spaces to change, or become connected to each other where they normally would not meet.

While relational constructs between memories start to accumulate, they form an infrastructure of spatial conditions and atmospheres. “[T]he kinds of space we all, all of us, have stored in our memory… spaces that are detailed and precise, or very general, at all levels of reminiscing. And of course once you get into reminiscence an infinite number of associations surface emerge concerning real space, desired space, imagined space, false amorphic space, grotesque space, nostalgia enters space perception, sentimentality… the interior space of memory seems, at least it seems that way to me, to create a theatre-like setting but at a very about-to-be-disintegrated level.”14

The place of prepositions11

Through this exploration in the attraction and activation of memories within objects or surroundings, the wooden cupboard from my home has become an important vessel for my personal memory palace. The cupboard embodies the way in which fragmented recollections live in objects and spaces. The narratives in ‘Chronicles of the Cupboard’ contain stories that link to the different manners in which spatial memories can be projected.

They deal with spaces that the piece of furniture has been in, how scale changes over time, and how the contents that it hosts link to other spaces in mind.

Some of my first images exist vaguely in the back of my four-year old brain. Slowly but surely, coming closer to the cupboard as an object that sits in my oldest of memories, the emotional attachments that inhabit this space well up and present themselves. A growth in no particular order.

The slow unfolding portrays the exploration of grasping that space in between, the space that lives between the physical and the imagination.

Matta-Clark, G. (1969) Wall Transcript Rendell, J., Wells, P. (2001). The Place of Prepositions: a place inhabited by angels.

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Heidi Bucher, Bellevue, Kreuzlingen (1990) [film still]

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Mark West, Hotel Edward Hopper (2005)

Christo, Wrapped Fountain and Wrapped Medieval Tower (1968)

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Chronicles of the Cupboard

I

Up, up, up the stairs we go. The pink carpet flooring tickles my hands and feet. Finally, I have reached the top. As I look to my right, I get a glimpse of the baby room. I see the cupboard from its side. It is big and chunky. I wrap my hands around its round feet. The wood feels smooth. Looking up, I see the arched edge from the top. Above my head, I hear amused chattering sounds. I think my little brother is getting his diaper changed. There are many roads going up and with my hand I follow them. My imaginary car can not reach the top of the cupboard. I peek around the side. Past the corners, the rusty, bronze hinges reveal themselves. Finally my mom is stepping away. Now I can step in front of the cupboard. Let’s see if there are more roads to follow. The drawers and doors look pretty and curly. I want to rattle the bronze keys in the locks but my mom will not let me. But the bottom looks quite as interesting too. With the back of my pencil I scrape past the bars. It makes funny sounds.

Walking around the upper floor of my house, I spot the cupboard in my parents’ former bedroom. Now that the cupboard stands closer in front of my parents’ bed, I barely notice the decorative bars. I have grown past the edges, fully viewing the top and the wooden flooring surrounding it.

The bronze statues that my parents collect adorn the piece of furniture. They suit the bronze details on the cabinet, the four small and curly door handles, the key hanging loosely in the keylock. The wood has lost its vibrant colour by now.

It has faded, and the grains that horizontally cover the top have darkened.

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Close Encounters/Caress, The Front Door (own work)

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Close Encounters/Caress, The Front Door (own work)

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Close Encounters/Caress, The Front Door (own work)

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Close Encounters/Caress, The Wooden Cupboard (own work)

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Close Encounters/Caress, The Wooden Cupboard (own work)

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Close Encounters/Caress, The Wooden Cupboard (own work)

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Close Encounters/Caress In gathering the endless collections of fragments that the spatial memory is made of, I tried to come closer to the objects that have surrounded me. There is a fascination for the fragmented, for the traces of things we once encountered in moments of time. It is in the recursiveness of rubbing and skinning, that the objects of my surroundings start to change in perspective and gather a new familiarity. Using these tracings have enabled me to acquire a sense of authority or possession over these encounters. Encounters that require a closeness, where it takes time to wrap the object, mute it as it is covered, rub it carefully, feel its textures and details without any judgement of knowing the object as it is.

There is a process in the skinning, followed by the placement of the skins in an outdoor context, and finally setting it free of its original form as the wind blows from underneath. Stitched together, the yellow tape marks the original edges of the body, and forms a slight structural aspect of the removed skin.

While working on the drawing, the closeness that I have to the object is overwhelmed by the distance created by the skins. I have stepped out of that object. The drawing becomes a place to enter, a skin to inhabit.

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Turning Point of the Two Forces (own work) 252x357 cm

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Turning Point of the Two Forces These drawings explore the tension between the emotional and physical space of the traced cupboard.

The tension sits between the gravitational forces of the physical object on the one hand, and the drift that occurs when we let go of these conventions on the other hand.

With the wind dictating the shape of the traced cupboard, it shakes off the restraining conventions that physical objects are forced into. The wind as a continuously changing factor caused an endless projection of motions and forms. In redrawing these ongoing deformations on 1:1 scale, I tried to seek the tension between the two forces.

The gravitational consequences are clearly visible in the dominating lines and contours of the traced cupboard.

These were the lines that I followed as I started tracing the photographs taken in the process. By overlapping the traces, I can catch the object in its motion, allowing the lines to align and cross. Sometimes the traces become one, sometimes they steer away from each other. It is this tension which I enjoy in the deformation of the whole.

Some parts overlap, become magnetic, dominate. Others rip away in gravity, autonomously. I like to see how the objects drift, move, deform, those are the moments of insecurity. The parts that prove security are when multiple drawings cross each other. They manifest the substantial presence of the traces in relation to each other and the position they take.

To me, there is both familiarity and disconnection with the drawing, as I recognize parts of the original and sometimes actually let go of the recognizable. This fact makes me aware of the process of mourning I discussed in an earlier stage. It makes me wonder if it is this instance where I truly encounter the loss.

Turning Point of the Two Forces, detail (own work)

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Turning Point of the Two Forces, detail (own work)

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Turning Point of the Two Forces (own work) 168x238 cm

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Turning Point of the Two Forces, detail (own work)

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Turning Point of the Two Forces, detail (own work)

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Heidi Bucher, Bellevue, Kreuzlingen (1990) [film still]

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Heidi Bucher, Raume sind Hüllen, sind Häute (1981) [film still]

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Do Ho Suh,Toilet Bowl-04 (2016)

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Chronicles of the Cupboard

II

I need to follow more roads with the car. The wooden plinths lead me through the corner of the room. I look to my right and I see more bars. These make funny sounds too when I scrape past them with my pencil. They sound different than the other bars though. Hollow, metallic clinks. I hear birds singing outside. I want to see! The window is so high up though. And the sun is too bright. My mom closes the curtains a bit. Very soft yellow curtains, very pretty. I try to count the sunflowers but I can’t recall what comes after ten.

Outside this room, the hallway connects to my parents’ bedroom on my left. It feels far away from the three rooms that my siblings and I sleep in. The balustrade with wooden bars ends in the wall that once defined the outlines of the house, that is, until my dad decided to build an extra space beyond it. I put my head between the bars and look down on the dark staircase. Too lazy to come up and collect his toys, my brother calls me somewhere below in the darkness.

When I throw the toy car downstairs, it lands with soft thumps on the bottom stairs. Getting up, I can catch a glimpse of the cupboard, as the door to my parents’ bedroom obliquely opens up.

I decide to walk back to the staircase, and on my right-hand side stands the white door with a stained glass window that leads to my parents bedroom. I remember the door blocking my entry on the night my brother was born. Stepping into this room is difficult, as it has changed so much over the years.

What I still can see is the light from the window falling on the big double bed, covered in cotton sheets. The cupboard faces the bed, standing against the wall that is shared by the baby room. A wall that has shared many hosts, moved in positions that I am aware of far in the back of my mind.

Chronicles of the Cupboard, detail (own work)

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Chronicles of the Cupboard, detail (own work)

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Reflection Note There is a process of instability and distortion that happens within the encounter of memories. It is in that instance that objects or surroundings lose their conventions of the ‘real’ world, and become something imaginative. Turning Point of the Two Forces’ explored this encounter and formed a first step towards meeting this space in between the real and imaginative. By flattening an object that I only know as three-dimensional, the drawing links to how memory influences and distorts the images of recollection. It shows all that is not material. The drawing ‘Chronicles of the Cupboard’ however, contradicts this idea again.

As it showed an isometric, a perspective which normally shows a reality purely based on physical representation, the drawing became representational. Where ‘Turning Point of the Two Forces’ has released the cupboard from its conventions, ‘Chronicles of the Cupboard’ pushed the recollections back into architectural conventions.

The three stories that the drawing was based on, need to be pushed further into a story that can elevate the imagination. The fact that I still encounter the described surroundings on a daily basis, restrain me from uniting it with the same surroundings that exist in my memory. At the same time, these spaces can actually no longer be accessed, as they live in the past.

In this moment, ‘Chronicles of the Cupboard’ forms a diagram with soft parameters for the next drawings. A slight expansion on the storylines, with more attention to detail, should support a broader imagination and interpretation of the described recollections. The three different stories each still deal with a different aspect of the deformations that the cupboard has lived through as memory grows over time. They talk about the spaces the cupboard has been in, the change in scale and how the objects inside the cupboard link to other spatial recollections. The drawings need to involve a bigger stance regarding the previously explored instability of our remembered surroundings, and how to articulate these different atmospheres within a dwelling. Where there are no conventions for the imagined space, we need to create our own.

Chronicles of the Cupboard, detail (own work)

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Chronicles of the Cupboard (own work)

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Chronicles of the Cupboard

III

I see my mom looking around in the cupboard. Opening drawers. Closing drawers. Doors squeaking when she opens them. Finally, she stops and walks out of the room. Now it’s my turn to see what is inside the cupboard. I think she turns those sticks in the holes and then it magically opens. I grab one of the keys and start rattling on it. Suddenly it pops out.

I decide to visit my parents’ first bedroom. The room with the shared, moving wall. Passing the big double bed, I finally encounter the cupboard. With success I can turn the key of the door. I open the left door and inside I see the stacks of board games. Once in a while we take them out and play together in the living room downstairs.

Gently, I open the right door. Immediately a couple of beach towels start spilling out. I decide to crawl a little deeper into the dark wooden interior of the cupboard and find our big weekend bag in the back. With a light smell of gasoline mixed with textiles drying in the warm wind of summer, I am transported back to the weekends that we spend on our sailing boat. I can feel the floor softly rocking underneath me, the surrounding water muffling all sounds. The little lamp that faces the entrance when stepping into our first sailing boat. The mast towering above me as I lay facing the sky that is crossed by tightly pulled ropes. Bulging sails when we speed through the waves. I follow the jetty to my backyard, surrounded by trees and neighboring houses. A strong wind releases the sail and it starts flapping around.

But I am not afraid, the sail is a safe space that I grew up in too, a wandering coverage, as it softly diffuses the sunlight when I sit underneath. The same safety that I encounter in the current bedroom of my parents, sitting right underneath the roof. I can look back at the window, with a glimpse of the trees in our backyard, a very familiar view. On the other side the roof opens up like the porthole of our boat, towels stacked on top, hidden away from the warmth of the sun.

I sit in this space for hours, expanding on a place I can surely call home too. I realise that the cupboard lives in the spaces, and the spaces live in the cupboard.

Poppenspe(e)lmuseum, Faustzimmer (1899)

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Miller, J. (2015). Mike Kelley, Educational Complex

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Sir John Soane Museum, section (1837)

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The Collapse of Recollected Reality (own work)

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The Collapse of Recollected Reality As time passes, my memories become more intertwined.

Slowly, spatial recollections start to merge muddle when these happenings are no longer accessible. Bedrooms have changed, walls have moved, as our family grew and the house needed space to host all five of us. Some spaces I can access, whereas other doors remain firmly shut and refuse my passage. Walls dance, shifting positions, walls that once seemed as high as the sky now safely surround my grown body or even at times press onto me.

When I opened the cupboard and the beach towels and weekend bag fell out, my remembered surroundings became even more unstable. Spaces and objects appear fragmented, they are melted together; repetitive, as they represent my selective memory of certain rooms. Rooms that mainly exist in the upper floor of my home, as they follow the journey of the wandering cupboard.

The traces of memories that accumulate slowly and intuitively present a rhythm of these space-events, which do not always provide a reliable source of evidence.

Some parts of the mind remain blank therefore any narrative about these parts can only be speculation.

Where memory has been repressed, the drawings have to suffice for retelling and reconstructing these truths. By manipulating scale, alternating between perspectives and reviving atmospheres, the recollections become corrupted then re-imagined. What remains is a reconstruction of the truth, as some elements of the memory still exist in reality, merged with imagination as we try to ‘visualize’ the rest of the architecture and the transitions between each space-event. In that sense, the drawing manoeuvres between fact and fiction. As these relational constructs expand, they become an infrastructure of spatial conditions and atmospheres that drift away from the perspectives as I know them. They become part of fiction, weaving together narratives, poetic ideas, objects and events.

The rhythms of these narratives present themselves in a structure that rests in the water, calmly, awaiting the exploration that guides us through the different spatial ambiences of recollections from my home. A structure that still, partially sits in reality as it is based on factual evidence like photographs. As we pass through all these space-events, we eventually become confronted with a rift. An island drifting off.

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“If you step on an island you’re cut off from the world and you create your own world.”5

Interview Philip Johnson, Pavilion in the Pond (1991)

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Retrospection Island “You don’t have to go down there. You can if you want to. I used to go down a great deal. But it’s too far now, the heck with it. But you can go down and enjoy it.”

“By the way, it is an island. You can’t get to this pavilion from the land. You have to have help if you’re an older person.

But if you’re young and lithe, you jump. But the jump is an important thing again, like crossing the bridge up above. You have to do something, you have to make an effort. It’s a change to get up into this thing. But when you’re into it – again, we’re all like children.”

“And you get that feeling. You sit down in the pavilion and you feel good ’cause there you are very close to the water with ducks and horrible life wandering around. And but you feel and then you feel very big. Do you realize if you pull/ grow yourself small, like Alice in Wonderland, you’re going to get big. Well, if you get big, what’s that do? It makes you feel important. So all of a sudden you’re king of the whole pond, see.”5 As it drifts off, the appearance of ‘Retrospection Island’ presents an architecture of full speculation. The false scale and perspective however, make us unsure if it actually drifts off. We can still experience its interior, where its vortex pulls the objects of repetition and recollection into the water. We get the impression that if we want to, we could still access this island, if only we want to take the jump.

As an opposition to the structure that lies in front of it, this final appearance in the drawing becomes subject to a construct of complete fiction. In that sense, the drawing as a whole manoeuvres between fact and fiction, physical and imagination. Ultimately, the process of storytelling has formed an essential part of celebrating and activating my rich repository of memories. Where the relational constructs between these memories built a foundation of endless entries to spatial and atmospheric fictions.

A foundation that ultimately collapses into an island modeled after my own reality.

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Interview Philip Johnson, Pavilion in the Pond (1991)

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References 1. Aalto University (2018, January 18). Peter Zumthor and Juhani Pallasmaa – Architecture Speaks [Video]. YouTube. https://youtu.be/ibwvGn3PkFg 2. Berets, M. (2021). Close Encounters/Caress. https://vimeo.com/525759365 3. Bucher. H. (1980). Hautraum [Motion Picture]. Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=WbHhMMPyGXo&t=93s&ab_channel=Elephant 4. Comaroff, J., Ker-Shing, O. (2013). Horror in Architecture. ORO editions.

5. Devens, E., Schultz, F., Shaw, J., Sanchis, F. (1991). Pavilion in the Pond. The Glass House. https://theglasshouse.org/explore/pavilion-in-the-pond/ 6. Ekici, D. (2016). Skin, Clothing, and Dwelling. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians , Vol. 75, No. 3, 281-298 7. Janssen, L. (Producer), & Boonstra, M. (Director). (2019). Home Away From Home (Do Ho Suh) [Motion Picture]. Netherlands: AVROTROS. 8. Koechlin, M. (Producer) (1990). Heidi Bucher Skinning the Bellevue, Kreuzlingen, Switzerland [Motion Picture]. Switzerland.

9. Miller, J. (2015). Mike Kelley, Educational Complex. London: Afterall Books.

10. Reinhart, G. (Producer) (1981). Raume sind Hüllen, sind Häute [Motion Picture]. Switzerland.

11. Rendell, J., Wells, P. (2001). The Place of Prepositions: a place inhabited by angels.

London: Routledge.

12. Rich, S. (2012, August 6). The Architecture of Memory. Smithsonian Magazine. Retrieved from: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/the-architecture-of-memory-14396375/ 13. Ursprung, P. (2005). Interiors – Heidi Bucher and the Fragile Rooms. Zurich: JRP|Ringier, 119-125.

14. Walker, S. (2009). Gordon Matta-Clark: Art, Architecture and the Attack on Modernism.

London, New York: IB Taurus.

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