“And what was that I delighted in, but to love, and to be loved? But I kept not the measure of love, of mind to mind friendship’s bright boundary; but out of the muddy concupiscence of the flesh, and the bubbling’s of youth, mists fumed up which beclouded and overcast my heart…. I was tossed about, and wasted, and dissipated, and I boiled over in my fortifications”
– The confessions of St. Augustine
Agha’s work investigates the semantic trouble with the word Love and its usage to refer to anyone of several distinct entities. Making love, being in love, love of God, mankind, mother, etc. only to wonder if there is a problem with the question, or whether this sentence employs no definite answer. The unruly concept of this word lies in its interpretation, the given, real and supposed representational. The work surveys the relentless nature of images found in collages of our own making; and in this process, we keep altering the interpretation of a simple image and disciplining reality. A process that testifies to time’s relentless melt.
