Matevž Čebašek

My family faced dementia for the first time in the 1980s, when my grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. My grandmother cared for him until he passed away in 2008. She witnessed all the steps of his disease. I can't imagine how frightening and frustrating it must have been, when she found out about her dementia. In the mountains, the sun is shining is an exploration of the fragility and unreliability of memories within the framework of dementia and the post-communist environment. It is a collaborative project with my grandmother living in her ancestral home in Slovenia and aims to create an image of personhood beyond her limitations. It is based on reflections on memory and landscape while exploring their significance in the context of past, present, and future. With the installation, I’m bringing together different perspectives on the past by layering official historical records, familial recollections, and my personal interpretations. I’m posing questions on the subjectivity of history, on how it is recorded and understood. I argue that history can turn out to be a product of imagination to the same extent as memories. Next to that, I draw parallels between the time disorientation of a person with dementia and the belief that the past is ever-present in the now. As Deleuze puts it: “The body is never in the present, it contains the before and the after, tiredness and waiting.” Through my photographic and cinematic encounters, I’m showing my interpretations of official and unofficial histories that are written and transmitted in my grandmother’s body and landscape. The installation invites the viewer to create their interpretations and connections between the images and texts from the past and present.

The first photograph ever taken of my grandmother with her name and birth year written on the back (Angela Markun, married Rehberger, 1935).

September 2024. My grandmother lying uncovered in her bed. For the past few months, almost every afternoon, she begins to uncover her blanket and prepares to "go home". Either to her childhood home, which she left in her 20s, or to care for her husband, with whom she lived in the house where she still lives.

Conversations with my grandmother about her memories of her father; her daughter's and son's inherited memories of their grandfather; an excerpt from a local newspaper article about her mother; and texts from the exhibition on the history of the region. In the background: A group photo of my grandmother's family, taken shortly before her father was killed during World War II. Sources: Eržen Dolžan, T., Globočnik, D., Jenčič, B., Perko, V., Rant, H., Rogelj, M., & Žibert, M. (2014). Beautiful Gorenjska, Guide to the Permanent Exhibition. │ Gorenjski muzej. Ljudje so bili vedno zelo dobri zame. (2000, June). Preddvorska Cajna, Gorenjski Glas.

The area where my great-grandfather was killed during World War II. A local farmer found his body hanging from a tree with his skull crushed skull and buried him. Years later, my great-grandmother managed to track him down so he could be reburied in his hometown.

August 2023. Knitting scarves used to be one of my grandmother's main activities while she was still able to do so. Later, the spasms caused by her Parkinson's disease prevented her from making them. Today, she can only occasionally wind a yarn into a ball.

Iskra factory, early in the morning. My grandmother started working in the factory when she was about 16 years old, right after finishing school. She retired at the same time as my grandfather developed Alzheimer's disease, allowing her to care for him full-time.

Conversations with my grandmother about her memories of her work, her daughter's memories of it, and texts from history books about industry in the region. In the background: Workers behind the conveyor belt at the Iskra factory. Sources: Eržen Dolžan, T., Globočnik, D., Jenčič, B., Perko, V., Rant, H., Rogelj, M., & Žibert, M. (2014). Beautiful Gorenjska, Guide to the Permanent Exhibition. │ Gorenjski muzej. Rogelj, M. (ed.) (2017, maj). │ Industrijska dediščina Gorenjske. Zbornik Povzetkov 2. Zgodovinskega Dneva. Naše tovarne, naš ponos—Industrijska dediščina Gorenjske. (2016). Gorenjski muzej.

My family faced dementia for the first time in the 1980s, when my grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. My grandmother cared for him until he passed away in 2008. She witnessed all the steps of his disease. I can't imagine how frightening and frustrating it must have been, when she found out about her dementia. In the mountains, the sun is shining is an exploration of the fragility and unreliability of memories within the framework of dementia and the post-communist environment. It is a collaborative project with my grandmother living in her ancestral home in Slovenia and aims to create an image of personhood beyond her limitations. It is based on reflections on memory and landscape while exploring their significance in the context of past, present, and future. With the installation, I’m bringing together different perspectives on the past by layering official historical records, familial recollections, and my personal interpretations. I’m posing questions on the subjectivity of history, on how it is recorded and understood. I argue that history can turn out to be a product of imagination to the same extent as memories. Next to that, I draw parallels between the time disorientation of a person with dementia and the belief that the past is ever-present in the now. As Deleuze puts it: “The body is never in the present, it contains the before and the after, tiredness and waiting.” Through my photographic and cinematic encounters, I’m showing my interpretations of official and unofficial histories that are written and transmitted in my grandmother’s body and landscape. The installation invites the viewer to create their interpretations and connections between the images and texts from the past and present.

An apple tree next to the road that leads from my house to my grandmother's house. In 2022 and 2023 she lived between these two places, so the road became part of her daily routine, which was disrupted by her condition in December 2023.

My grandmother hugging her doll, which she got from my mom. She named her Metka. One day she kept referring to it as me.

My grandmother's memories of her son Boštjan, who died of heart disease at the age of three. In the background: Her son Boštjan on his second birthday.

A letter to my grandmother that she received in the hospital from her husband, daughter and son after the birth of her son Boštjan. They wished them good health and a fast return home.

My family faced dementia for the first time in the 1980s, when my grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. My grandmother cared for him until he passed away in 2008. She witnessed all the steps of his disease. I can't imagine how frightening and frustrating it must have been, when she found out about her dementia. In the mountains, the sun is shining is an exploration of the fragility and unreliability of memories within the framework of dementia and the post-communist environment. It is a collaborative project with my grandmother living in her ancestral home in Slovenia and aims to create an image of personhood beyond her limitations. It is based on reflections on memory and landscape while exploring their significance in the context of past, present, and future. With the installation, I’m bringing together different perspectives on the past by layering official historical records, familial recollections, and my personal interpretations. I’m posing questions on the subjectivity of history, on how it is recorded and understood. I argue that history can turn out to be a product of imagination to the same extent as memories. Next to that, I draw parallels between the time disorientation of a person with dementia and the belief that the past is ever-present in the now. As Deleuze puts it: “The body is never in the present, it contains the before and the after, tiredness and waiting.” Through my photographic and cinematic encounters, I’m showing my interpretations of official and unofficial histories that are written and transmitted in my grandmother’s body and landscape. The installation invites the viewer to create their interpretations and connections between the images and texts from the past and present.

My grandmother's memories of her husband, how they met, and how she took care of him when he was sick. In the background: My grandparents' wedding photograph.

The last photograph of my grandfather, taken on his 70th birthday.

In one of the letters, I asked my uncle to write about memories of my grandfather, he wrote that he will never forget how he looked at him before he died, with his beautiful gray eyes. In the same way, I will never forget my grandmother's eyes, which are becoming more and more lost every time I see them.

October 2022. My grandmother picking flowers in a garden next to my house. During her childhood, she worked in the fields in the same place. The last time she was at our house was in April 2024, when she thought she was at her sister's house, who died more than 20 years ago.