Shrine: Liz Janisse

This term's discussion about memorials—everything from shrines to stupas, monuments to living memorials—has taken us all over Lexington, Washington D.C., and even the world in our analysis of design, form, ritual, planning, process, and context. In hindsight, at the heart of all these places is a common goal: acknowledging loss. 

This assignment brought loss and grief to the forefront. It is a piercing reminder of why we fight so hard to remember—because the fear of losing these memories far outweighs the cost of memorializing them. 

Millions of dollars and hours of labor have all led to the creation of countless memorials. But perhaps it is the depth of emotion felt that truly gives these sites their value. 

The shrine I made for my uncle Dan is very simple in design and structure. The meaning of the glass is twofold—he enjoyed glass blowing during his life, and alcoholism (symbolized by the idea of glass bottles) played a major role in his demise. In this way, the glass pieces have a lot of meaning as the fabric of my memorial. 

The colors and the water remind me of Lake Michigan—a place I have always known and loved. In his home in Door County, the Wisconsin peninsula that extends into Lake Michigan, my uncle would have always been surrounded by water. This plays a big role in the shrine. 

Additionally, the water fills only about 3/4 of my shrine. This is symbolic of a life cut short—not as full or expansive as perhaps it ought to have been. The water obscures the forms below it—this represents the lack of clarity present in his death. To this day, we still don't know exactly what happened. 

The three rocks at the center represent the three sons he left behind—the most important part of his life. They stand in opaque contrast to the translucent glass and water that surrounds them. They are at the heart of everything. 

The weight of the whole shrine—between glass, rocks, and water—represents the weight of the guilt I feel. I wasn't there for the funeral. I wasn't there to say goodbye or wipe the tears of my cousins or acknowledge how much my uncle meant to me, despite the times when he wasn't able to be there for me. 

This memorial represents an acknowledgement of the grief that I haven't been able to process fully over the past 5 months. I hope that giving it to my father will help him remember his little brother for all the good my Uncle Dan did in his life. 

The only thing more painful than the grief is the idea of forgetting this loss. I hope my uncle knows that his memory lives on in the lives and joy of those who loved him most.