My Memory Echoes in You

Dana Tosic, My Memory Echoes in You (detail), 2026, screenprint, work in progress.

Dana Tosic, My Memory Echoes in You (detail), 2026, screenprint, work in progress.

Dana Tosic, My Memory Echoes in You (detail), 2026, screenprint, work in progress.


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My Memory Echoes in You
Dana Tosic
September 11, 2026 – November 21, 2026

OPENING RECEPTION: Friday, September 11, 6-8pm at Open Studio

The Garden

In another country across an ocean, there is a garden.

Where once I was in the garden, it now exists only within me, in my mind’s eye.  Generations of a single family enjoyed this garden. Tended over lifetimes, a living constant.

Captured through changing technologies, photographs of the garden accumulated as it, and the family, grew and changed: black and white photographs, slide positives, colour prints that have faded in their albums; each somehow ephemeral in its frozen moment.

The garden may be gone now. I don’t know. I don’t expect to visit again.

The Roses

The roses of the garden have heavy, floral, sweet, delicious scents. I want to eat one. I eat one. The taste is sweet, heavy. It fills my mouth and nose, and it lingers.

Rosehips used for jam, tea, and preserves; rose water flavour in Turkish delight. The flavours of my childhood.

My grandmother teaches me to press the flowers: to tilt the heads, flatten the petals and leaves, pull apart the large petals and press them separately. To compose them.

My Memory Echoes in You

I remember the garden clearly, fondly. It is huge; it towers over me. There are many flowers but the roses stand out the most. Pink Ladies… pink and red. I put my head right into the rose bush and inhale deeply.

In the photos, the towering, enveloping rose bush is smaller than I remember. But I too am smaller and as I grew so did they. I don’t know whether the garden still stands. The house does, but the roses? Without anyone to tend them?

My children will never know that rose garden; the garden of my summers, an ocean and a lifetime away. But they know the garden at the end of our street. They put their heads right into the rose bush and inhale deeply.

They will remember the moments, through their own photographs and memories, and my roses will echo in them too.