Memory Lines by Alemsah Ozturk

Memory Lines, No. 76

I kept pulling the red sideways until it stopped being a colour and became a heat.

Underneath, other things are still there. A few thin lines of olive green. A paler warmth breaking through near the top.

Memory works like this. It doesn't erase. It drags the same feeling across again and again, until what's left is texture.

At the bottom edge the paint thinned out and a few pale marks stayed on the surface. I left them.

Layers. Erasure. Residue.