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"Man is separated from the past (even from the past only a few seconds old) by two forces that go instantly to work and cooperate: the force of forgetting (which erases) and the force of memory (which transforms). Beyond the slender margin of the incontestable (there is no doubt that Napoleon lost the battle of Waterloo), stretches an infinite realm: the realm of the approximate, the invented, the deformed, the simplistic, the exaggerated, the misinformed, an infinite realm of non-truths that copulate, multiply like rats, and become immortal." 

Milan Kundera

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The senses provide an infinite pulp of information. This is too much for indiscriminate internalisation, and so day-by-day we systemise it, categorising, ordering and patterning it into blocks of time. In the process we mould it into a certain shape, and store it in the recesses of our mind, our memory. The resulting artifice is at once simple in form yet complex in content; minimal and maximal. We can access it, but at the same time, it encloses us, and forms the space in which we live and move. It protects us, yet also entombs us; it is a home without windows or doors. 

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