What is the difference between memory and fiction? What are the intersecting policies of their tenuous and subjective relationship? For example: You have a woman, a mother recalling her dead daughter. She sees her daughter playing on the beach, she is viewing the scene and relating to it as archived footage cataloged under the umbrella of Memory. Once upon a time, my daughter played on the beach and I watched. I witnessed her. Except … this never happened. The mother’s daughter died when she was three days old, she never had a chance to substantiate and affirm her life through the continuum and architecture of memories, of memory-building. The beach scene never happened, yet the mother, in her time-hunted eyes is watching it happen again. She is recalling vividly what for her formed a bittersweet memory, with requisite narrative attached—My daughter was so happy that day, playing with the sea, the waves. The mother is not experiencing her daughter and the beach as an invented story, or obliging fiction—she is re-membering, re-calling. This happened and is happening, all at once. You have to wonder how much of what we are remembering is what we need and want to remember, how much of memory is fiction masquerading as factual imprints, or impressions based on phantoms, the publication of haze and fever-dreams. How many memories are sketched from vague outlines of what never took place?