I remember my bunk bed. The souvenir speaks to the context of origin through the language of longing, for it is not an object arising out of need; it is an object arising out of the insatiable demands of nostalgia. These rooms are illuminated as stages, scenes of an uncertain action. In these arrangements of interior space, confusion and distance mark the light. I remember my bunk bed.

The monitor displays images of home interiors that are constantly being pulled from the internet. The previous interior drawing blends into the next one as more drawings are placed on the pedestal.

 I recall leaning on a nightstand made by my grandfather as I got in and out of bed. This nightstand was the strongest connection to my home before I fell asleep. That tactile connection to the nightstand not only summoned memories of home but also allowed me to consider possible alternative futures. The nightstand has a sentiment of displacement; a longing for a home that no longer exists or never existed.

I placed a microphone inside the bedpost and invited individuals to record their memories of a bed by whispering their stories into the bed post.