In a collection of portraits, revolution celebrates its existence. Within the realm of history, I behold a mosaic of clandestine newspapers, flags, brigades and the architect flanked by a man whose testimony reaches me through his daughter. From the shrines of the hidden biography I learned the inscription of the workers – an ideology sustaining itself through a combination of perseverance and patience. My mind is wrought with vengeance ... the necessity to sustain myself with the destruction of the oppressor.

The mosaics surround me – a torrent each claiming a fragment of truth. My fists are still clenched over the petals, reluctant to part with the primordial veneer. A smile, an expression of triumph, an act of insurrection against an oppressive censorship, and suddenly the gentle grey hues dissolve into a cacophony of colour. It was a transition into generations which constructed a memory from the periphery.