Juliana Madrone

I’m sitting here in a mundane little room surrounded by shelves and shelves of archival material. It’s strange to think that what looks like bland piles of paper are actually the remnants of someone’s assuredly colorful life. And these remnants are so small and unimportant looking… I am struck by the notion, as I peer at these photos, that my research is less about finding out things and more about trying to get to know these people. It’s like having a conversation across a desert. You can almost see who you’re talking to, but the wind garbles their words, and the heat conjures up false apparitions between you. I think it isn’t possible to really know these people, but holding their photos does impart a sense of their presence.