Julie Rafalski

Past - Present

Sometimes an aura of a place form the past revisits me. I suddenly remember a room painted green in Krakow with an expectation of Christmas Eve. Expectations intermingle with memories. Dark red tablecloths, a small window opening out onto a courtyard from where the smell of fried onions drifts in, ice-cold windowpanes facing grey skies, a dark street on which cars heading for the evening meal travel, the sun slanting in and catching the silver tinsel, pre-war furniture standing against the dark green walls. They are all here now, pulled from different decades.

The simultaneity of all these time differentials; a simultaneity that is out of time, visible only from this moment now and here.

The present is the distance required to view the past.