Fountain by Eduardo Paolozzi

We popped into the Tate Britain while in London and I saw a piece that sparked an idea in my head. It was Fountain by Eduardo Paolozzi. It put me in mind of the scaffolding of a house, but certain rooms remaining suspended and whole within the otherwise vacant structural outline. It made me think about all the holes we have in our memory—just sketchy outlines that we piece together into a narrative whole. We have these discreet moments that feel preserved and real that we stitch together to make a coherent story, a bit like a house made of sticks with single rooms suspended. It also reminded me a bit of one of Calvino’s Cities, although I can’t think of which one exactly…