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Shadow of My Grey Grandma

Memories are distorted realities, just like shadow. And grey is ambiguity, just like all of us. Shadow of My Grey Grandma tells contradictory stories about an important figure in my life - grandma to mimic the ambiguous nature of memories and the grey areas of human beings.

Editorial

Print

Typography

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Up Next

Brand & Identity

Packaging

Campaign

Motion

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(Individual Project)

(2024)

THE STORY

For my beloved
grandma

I grew up with my grandma, from when I was born till I get into college. Basically, she runs through all my pre-adulthood memories. But I can not remember details about her and the things happened anymore. All things happened was emotions with some “facts” which are not even true. Grandma, who was and still is an important part of my life, essentially become an collection of emotions.

In my memory, she is ambiguous. I don’t know if she hate animal or love animal, I don’t know she hate my grandpa or love my grandpa, I also don’t know she hate her village or love that village. She did things proofing both, and denying both at the same time. With all the twisted memory, I for sure can never know who she exactly is. But one thing I can be sure, she is grey, like everyone.

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TECHNIQUE

Book created
by shadow

I chose to use the technique of cyanotype to create the whole book. It is a method using shadow to create images, therefore, the process itself is a twist of the fact.

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THE STORY

All you’ve read
are not true

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It is a book of my memories about my grandma. I wrote down the things happened in the past, supported by blurry images that cast my emotions. And finally, when the readers reached to the end, they would be told that, all they’ve read were not true.

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BOOK BINDING

A blurry library

This book is bounded in dragon scale style to leave the content exposed to the readers once it’s unrolled. It is a metaphor of memory - we have access to any memory we want...

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We wished so, but do we? Do we really have access to our memories?

THE CONTAINER

Memory on my neck

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Time to roll the memories up again. And out them in a container with which, my grandma used to put eggs in and hung on my neck before she sets me out for school... Or did she?

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