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. on view .
Jan 15,2021 - Mar 15, 2021

Victoria Wendish: Playful Being

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Victoria Wendish: Playful and Placement Series,Digital Photography,2019
Artist:
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Victoria Wendish
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Photographer and designer base in London,UK
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Victoria Wendish: Playful and Placement Series,Digital Photography,2019
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Victoria Wendish: Playful and Placement Series,Digital Photography,2019
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Victoria Wendish: Playful and Placement Series,Digital Photography,2019
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Victoria Wendish: Playful and Placement Series,Digital Photography,2019
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Victoria Wendish: Playful and Placement Series,Digital Photography,2019
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Wolfgang Hasselmann: Uploading Sky 11,Digital Photography,2019
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Victoria Wendish: Playful and Placement Series,Digital Photography,2019
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Wolfgang Hasselmann: Uploading Sky 18,Digital Photography,2019

The nostalgic feeling

文/ Victoria Wendish​

(艺术家自述)



It was hours into the late morning when the train made its first stop. He listened to the train conductor speak out over the intercom, almost incoherently, say, “The nostalgic feeling suddenly came over." Him as he could remember that his very first kiss was in Brightstone Park. That was a forbidden memory, as he had not returned there in five years because of his haunting memories that would always come back to remind him just how cold and frightening the world really is. While lost in thought, he felt a rough, sand paper-like wet feeling on his forearm.

He looked down and it was a black cat, but not all black. The paws were all white like socks, and the chest and stomach were snow white. The loud prominent purr was a very peculiar reminder of a cat he once owned.

Midnight was put down three years ago though. As he began petting the cat’s back, it ran away and jumped off the moving train. He looked out in a hurry, but it was gone. It was just like everything else he loved. There for one moment, then gone the next. The strange thought that has one wondering if anything had actually existed that is now no more. A person, or a thing, could mean everything to you, but once they slip away, they become like the wind: occasionally brushing up against you, but never revealing its form.

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