Memories of home
Handmade paper (abaca, cotton, indigo dyed and pulp painted) embedded in resin within a copper bezel fabricated by Union Progresista Artesanal
Sizes vary from 3”- 4” L
2019
The stories of immigrants are deeply rooted in the memory and rich history of the United States. They are stories of individuals and families who left their countries in search for another home, a place of safety, of opportunity, and of freedom. For the past twenty five years, since I first migrated to the United States from Honduras, I’ve met many others who have gone through a similar journey. “You sacrifice friendships and family” said Alma, my daughter’s daycare teacher as we sat in her living room eating her delicious tostadas while talking about life as immigrants. Leaving our countries is letting go of our sense of place and belonging to a culture, to a people and to a way of life. As we continued our conversation, Alma expressed “It would be nice to go back, but here we have the opportunity to get ahead.” Nodding in agreement, I thought about my dream of having a college education and how pursuing it meant leaving my family and country at age seventeen. My dream wasn’t different from the millions of American citizens who go to college every year; the only difference was the home we left behind and the paths we traveled to get it.
Listening to others’ stories of immigration remind me of the weathering process that happened to my house in Honduras after we migrated. Peeling paint, cracking, chipping, oxidizing and other wear and tear processes created stratified textures on the interior and exterior of the house. The walls were decaying because the only person who could take care of them, my ninety two year old grandma, was also deteriorating. Home is Tita Melida, and now that she’s gone, my connection to that remembered place has also vanished. When I see layered surfaces that carry evidence of time and history, whatever environment I am in, I am filled with nostalgia and a deep sense of loss. As I long for my childhood home, I embrace the beginning of a new story.
Many years after arriving in this beautiful country with high hopes and aspirations, I found myself hiking through the Halfway Prairie Dane County Wildlife Area in Cross Plains, Wisconsin, and came across a stone farmhouse built by a German immigrant, Friedrich, in the 1800s. In a letter to his family in Germany, Friedrich wrote “An American farmer isn’t set up right away like a German, he simply builds himself a house, so that he can live, and the barn is finished right away, the sky is the roof and the ground is the floor, that’s the kind I have.” As a Nation of immigrants, America has laid the foundation for us to start over, build new lives, and contribute to its thriving communities. Embedded in this land, roots from around the world carry everyone’s story of home.
Published by CIVA
SEEN Journal – House and Home