Spaces tend to contain more than what we perceive, especially our most intimate. Often we cling to history by way of inheritance, attaching personal meaning and memory to articles left by those no longer; things given or abandoned to the physical world.
It is not by chance that these objects we collect have stories. We intentionally attach meaning to them as a way to stave off passing time and unintentional forgetfulness. This is our way of cheating death, leaving something behind. A passive aggressive time control. Realistic time travel.
The mind can only hold so many snap shots, eventually deleting due to over capacity. Often their residue resurfaces in dreams which we then transfer to the physical world.
As for me, I am a conflicted romantic. Holding on to physical memories and desiring a minimalist surrounding. I fear losing memories, even of the objects themselves. Dreams come to me only as resolve.
The built environment is created for a purpose. To not only give shelter but give shape to memory and emotion, physical form to hope.