Walking down My Street, you would occasionally hear side chatter by a congregation of elderly residents fondly reminiscing about their childhood memories in the area. Some of them would natter about the delicious oven baked cakes that cost less than two dollars back in the day. You would also witness them pointing at various old stone houses, with their rusting ancient shutters, describing their friends or family who have lived there in the past. Living in my dad’s childhood home, it often felt like I was re-living his beautiful memories.
In the A4 piece above, personal memories as well as those of ancestors are embedded in the buildings on My Street on a peaceful Friday afternoon; inside some of the windows in the piece are old black and white photos of parents, grandparents and great-grandparents that lived on My Street many years ago.