Help us build our Memory Palace by participating in a story-circle.
In a Memory Palace is a touring production invested in engaging deeply with local communities. The installation focuses on the healing, stabilizing, uplifting, and transformative power of personal stories of human migration. By sitting together and sharing our stories, we discover our interrelatedness while reaffirming the communities we are part of.
We particularly invite local refugees, asylees, and immigrant communities to participate in a story-circle, as conceived by John O’Neal, in which a small group of individuals share and respectfully listen to theme-based stories rooted in personal experience. Facilitated by an In a Memory Palace project member our story-circles make the project personal and open doors to new perspectives and experiences.
If you would like to be part of a story-circle, contact Jubilith Moore at moorenohgaku@theatrenohgaku.org.
Contribute your own personal migration story to the “A Memory Palace of Migration” through your Apple or Android device.
November 21 – December 19, 2025
Kelso and Condos Galleries, Kelso Art Center
University of the Incarnate Word | 4301 Broadway, San Antonio, Texas 78209
tbd, 2026
Kelso and Condos Galleries, Kelso Art Center
University of the Incarnate Word | 4301 Broadway, San Antonio, Texas 78209
“A Memory Palace of Migration” is a standalone exhibition inspired by In a Memory Palace. The exhibition focuses on nine themes drawn from Edith Newton’s play, which link Hedwig Müller’s migration story to the migration stories carried by all of us. Click a theme button below for a brief essay about that theme. The nine essays are by Dr. Lopita Nath, Dr. Kevin Salfen, and Dr. Tanja Stampfl, all based at the University of the Incarnate Word in San Antonio, Texas.
THEME 1
Departure | Entry
theme 1
The moments of departure and entry are two of the most emotionally charged and legally consequential points in an immigrant’s journey, holding deep meaning that is both symbolic and definitive.
Departure can be exciting for migrants leaving for a new job or moving to a new country; it can also be a complex emotional knot tied up with grief, hope, and finality. Departure is driven by an immense hope for a safer, more prosperous, or more stable future. It represents the courage to abandon certainty for the unknown promise of a new life, as many immigrants do. For refugees and forced migrants, the act of leaving often represents a profound loss of family, friends, culture, language, familiar social structures, and a piece of one’s own identity. For many, this is a moment of deep sadness and cultural bereavement for the life they must leave behind. And for many immigrants, especially those fleeing persecution or war, departure is understood as an irreversible decision. They may not know if or when they will see their homeland or family members again, giving the moment a weighty sense of finality.
Entry is the point of transition where the hope of the journey meets the reality of the legal and social landscape of the new country. Entry into a new country is laced with legal meanings, of borders, immigration controls, passports, and visas, marked by an immigration stamp in a passport or a digital record like an I-94 Arrival/Departure Record in the U.S.: an official documentation of their status, making an immigrant “legal” or “illegal,” determining their future in the new country, including their ability to apply for citizenship or permanent residency. Entry into a country is a new beginning, pointing the way toward eventual integration.
Both departure and entry can also signify “the emotional threshold,” where crossing the border brings immediate relief that an arduous and often dangerous journey is over. Simultaneously, it ushers in a new phase of intense vulnerability, with the immigrant facing a new language, new culture, new bureaucratic systems, and the daunting challenge of starting a life from scratch. The challenges of adapting to this new place begin, and how they adapt to this new life will shape their future.
In summary, departure is the personal act of severing the past for survival and hope, while entry is the formal act, with legal implications, of adopting the future, marking the end of the journey but the true beginning of the immigration experience.
THEME 2
Journey | Transportation
theme 2
Transportation in the form of flights or car drives across borders can represent the freedom to travel, suggesting that one has the financial and legal security to travel, and possibly also a sense of home in multiple places. Metropolitans are those travelers who cross borders with visas and passports that are accepted in most countries. They come and go with relative ease, maintaining a life or sorts in two or more countries. Over the years, their journeys will include children and grandchildren who were born and are rooted mostly in only one of the countries.
Exiles and migrants are often on one-way journeys, which are more painful, because they inevitably leave behind part of their history and identity. These journeys can signal hope and security for the family left behind or for the generations to be born into a country with better resources and greater safety. As we hear in some of the contributions to this memory palace, several immigrants were able to buy land, establish businesses, and build wealth for themselves and their families in Texas. They left a place that held little promise for them and then built their lives in the United States on a scale they had not even considered possible. Others experienced hardships and never found the prosperity they felt was promised to them.
No matter the form of transportation or type of migration, the journey itself will propel a transformation that is irreversible. Even a temporary migration, like coming to the United States as an international student, leaves a lifelong imprint, as the traveler is pushed out of everything that is familiar and must reinvent an identity in this new environment. The physical transportation becomes a psychological journey.
THEME 3
Waiting
theme 3
Traffic lines at borders. Queuing up in front of immigration officials before heading to a connecting flight. Checking timetables for the next train to ride, or hiding out in a safe place before being picked up and smuggled into a different country. Much of this waiting involves trepidation, even feelings of helplessness. If the Homeland Security officer finds fault with something in the paperwork, there is very little recourse. It means relying on lawyers, if one can afford them, to contest official decisions or to apply for visas and green cards that are costly and time-consuming but never guaranteed.
In addition to the physical waiting, (im)migrants’ lives are often on hold psychologically. Half of one’s life and family may remain in the old country, with history and traditions that are little known and often unwelcome in the new country. It can feel like one is suspended in time and space, not fully integrated in either life or culture but residing in the overlapping space between the two. The only connector is the Self that has been shaped by both countries and the journey between the two. The old country can keep a hold on one’s heart and shape one’s future goals, sometimes holding back plans for the present.
Waiting, therefore, can carry both a promise of fresh opportunities and fear of what’s to come. By definition, it places the power and decision-making elsewhere, whether that place is the government, timetables, or pure happenstance. So, waiting requires a kind of surrender to or trust in that next step, a brief respite of will in the midst of the journey. It describes the space where life in the old country is about to end and life in a new culture has not yet started.
THEME 4
Friends | Allies
theme 4
The magic of migration lies in the newly won friendships and moments of mutual recognition across cultures, languages, religions, and even species. Strangers might step up in a time of need and offer a translation, food, housing, or another small act of kindness that centers and humanizes the (im)migrant. The parable of the Good Samaritan illustrates this concept powerfully: the Samaritan takes care of the injured individual, providing for him as long as he needs, even though he and the injured man are political enemies. Friends and allies emerge when political, social, and cultural differences recede to allow a shared humanity to be recognized. These moments happen when we no longer hear the foreign accent, no longer consider different eating habits as limitations, and open ourselves to a shared presence by hearing each other’s stories and memories across cultures.
In A Streetcar Named Desire, Blache DuBois ends the play with the famous line, “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” This statement shapes much of the (im)migrant’s experience. Everyone they encounter is a stranger, and each interaction carries the seed of promise or threat. Old networks and connections are no longer accessible, so new friends and allies become the foundation for a new life. Friends become the new family, and they transform the new country into home. Whereas old friendships were built from common backgrounds and geographies, these new friendships are rooted in the soul, in differences that are exciting and invigorating, and a recognition of shared values and principles that transcend any one culture or language.
These friendships and moments of true recognition can be romantic, or they can go beyond species, as we see in some of the contributions in this exhibition. What they all have in common is their provision of a sense of stability at moments of uncertainty, a glimmer of hope in a situation that may be overwhelming.
THEME 5
Luggage | Baggage
theme 5
The meaning of luggage and baggage for immigrants goes far beyond the literal meaning of bags and suitcases. It carries profound symbolic and emotional weight.
Luggage suggests the physical remains of a past life, things of necessity and for survival, and mementos of home. Physical luggage holds the essential, practical items chosen to sustain life in a new country: clothes, necessary tools, important documents, and maybe provisions for the journey, representing a dramatic compression of a lifetime of possessions to the absolute minimum. Often tucked within bags are a few treasured mementos, photographs, family heirlooms, religious items, or small objects from the homeland. These are carefully selected links to the life, family, and culture left behind, providing comfort and a physical connection to one’s roots. The suitcase, or bag, is an iconic symbol of the immigrant and refugee experience, a miniature of the life they once had, packed and transported across borders.
Luggage is also a symbol of journey and displacement, of hope and uncertainty, of a new beginning. Luggage is an object of transition, packed with hope for a better future, but it also embodies the uncertainty and finality of leaving one’s home forever (or for a long, indefinite period). And when the bags are finally unpacked in the new country, that unpacking often signifies the start of the immigrant’s new life and the need to put down roots, even as the contents of the bags are reminders of the past. The overused, scratched, and marked luggage, as well as the act of “lugging” one’s possessions, speaks to the arduous physical and emotional journey of migration, often under difficult or dangerous circumstances.
Beyond physical luggage, the word baggage carries a figurative meaning that is acutely relevant to the immigrant experience: memories and trauma, or identity and cultural dissonance. This “baggage” refers to the intangible weight of memories, grief, loss, and trauma from the life they fled or the journey they endured. For refugees especially, this can include the emotional residue of war, persecution, or economic hardship. Baggage also represents the difficulties and challenges of adapting to a new culture, language, and society while carrying the full weight of their original identity and experiences.
For an immigrant, luggage holds what they could save, and baggage is what they cannot leave behind, staying as a memory forever, tucked away in some corner of their heart, mind, and soul, coming out every so often, a bolt out of the blue or a wistful smile.
THEME 6
Fabric | Clothes | Fashion
theme 6
Fabric, clothes, and fashion hold a rich, complex, and vital meaning for immigrants, serving as powerful, visible markers of identity, belonging, and adaptation. They can convey preservation, assimilation, and expression.
Clothing and fabric are tangible links to the homeland and a means of maintaining cultural heritage in a new environment, the preservation of cultural identity. They are a wearable heritage. Traditional clothing like a sari, kilt, kimono, or specific regional embroidery and prints, like the Palestinian embroidery shown in this exhibition, is often worn for cultural holidays, community gatherings, or family events. These items are carefully preserved and passed down, acting as a portable cultural memory and a way to teach younger generations about their roots. They communicate pride and resistance. Wearing traditional clothes in a new country can be an overt an unapologetic assertion of cultural identity and even an act of resistance against the pressure to blend in.
Fabric can tell a story. A special texture, color, pattern, or material, such as the silk sari handed down by a mother, can carry deep meaning, communicating family history, regional origin, social status, or even religious values.
Clothing is one of the most immediate and visible ways immigrants interact with the host society and seek integration. It is a tools for assimilation and navigation. Sometimes immigrants adopt the mainstream fashion of their new country to secure employment, avoid discrimination, and minimize unwanted attention, and this is often the first step, even if it is superficial, toward blending in. Immigrants learn to use different clothes for different social settings. They might wear traditional clothes at home or with their community but adopt Western professional attire for work, demonstrating an understanding of the new society’s social codes and expectations. Clothes often epitomize the burden of appearance, as the pressure to dress “correctly” can be intense. Historically, some immigrants were even advised by family members already in the new country to discard their old-world clothes immediately upon arrival, signaling that the clothes of the past were a liability.
For immigrants and, especially, their children, fashion becomes a space for creative blending and expressing a dual identity. Immigrants will often blend styles, where traditional elements are fused with contemporary trends (e.g., wearing a traditional patterned headwrap with modern streetwear, or integrating ethnic embroidery into a business suit). This “multicultural fashion” expresses an identity that is neither entirely “home” nor entirely “here,” but a unique “third space.”
This blending has significantly shaped global fashion, bringing unique cultural perspectives, craft techniques, and fabric knowledge to the forefront, with immigrant designers redefining global fashion landscapes.
THEME 7
Food | Hunger
theme 7
The migrant’s next meal can be a source of desperation or satiation, a warm welcome home or a strange and unfulfilling experience.
The migrant is sometimes driven by hunger. An old way of life collapses, due to famine or war, and there seems to be no immediate way to sustain the necessities of life at home. Relocation may, then, be that most primal activity: a search for the resources necessary simply to survive. Forced migration can also trace a path to hunger, with the migrant torn from a way of life that is known and plunged into one lacking the connections, the community, or the resources to meet immediate needs.
The inverse of these scenarios is the sense of plenty and fulfillment that food can provide, especially food associated with the migrant’s identity culture. Hedwig Müller, protagonist of In a Memory Palace, the parent work of this exhibition and performance project, remembers with an aching nostalgia the café culture of early twentieth-century Vienna, which she has had to flee with the rise of Nazism. One community contributor to this exhibition spoke about continuing food traditions from her great grandparents’ generation – their potato pancakes, or latkes – when language and even the family name have long since been forgotten.
Food can also be a disorienting experience. One contributor raised on her mother’s superb Chinese cuisine throughout a childhood spent in suburban America was shocked by the cafeteria food in her first semester at university. Later in life she apologized to her mother for every time she had complained as a child, “Dumplings again?” At the same time, her parents had gone through a long process of acculturation, increasingly preferring the American “suburban” fare of chain restaurants to home cooking from their ancestral land.
THEME 8
Voices | Languages | Songs | Sounds
theme 8
Language is often one of the first and greatest challenges facing the migrant, whether it is a truly different language or a regional dialect. Writing in The Bells of Old Tokyo, Anna Sherman tells a fellow expatriate that, despite her best efforts and keen ambition to master the Japanese language, she still thinks and dreams in English.
Hedwig Müller, the protagonist of In a Memory Palace, displaced in the United States, similarly keeps dreaming in the German of her native Vienna. “Küss die Hand, Fräulein,” she remembers her husband Georg saying, perhaps when their love was still young, before they had been forced to flee their home with the rise of Nazism.
In The Language Instinct, Steven Pinker proposes that all humans are essentially hard-wired for grammar and that the differences between languages that we experience are more superficial than they seem, making us seem more different from one another than we truly are. Yet an unfamiliar language can be profoundly isolating for the migrant, and one’s native tongue, especially when heard after a long silence, can feel like a refuge.
One community contributor, having moved to Spain from the U.S., cried at night for being unable to converse freely. Another, coming from Spain to the U.S. as a child, picked up English quickly while her parents eventually returned to Spain, in part because the language never came as easily to them.
Song may complicate or simplify these welcoming and distancing aspects of language. Hedwig’s story in In a Memory Palace is chiefly told through music, and the aching nostalgia of the song “Wien, Wien, nur du allein” is threaded through the score of the work, simultaneously an absence and a presence. Music, that most favored mode of the city of Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Schubert, Mahler, Strauss, Schoenberg, is Hedwig’s language of memory.
THEME 9
The Familiar | The Unfamiliar
theme 9
“My today is so different from all my yesterdays.” So writes Stefan Zweig at the beginning of The World of Yesterday, his testament, written in exile, of a literary life in a world that Nazism wholly dismantled. How does the migrant cope with so much unfamiliarity in a new “home” that can never be home?
The creation of diasporic communities is one response to this, establishing an enclave of the familiar in a sea of experience that brings out every difference. These differences can be as simple as being shocked by different recycling practices in the US and South Korea, as one community contributor observed, or they can seem complicated and hurtful, as the child who was relentlessly made fun of for her clothes, her hair, her speech, the way her family wrapped presents, the way she was taught to write cursive back in Ireland.
The Unfamiliar does not always bring a sense of dread. It can be a source of wonder and delight. It can even seem uncannily familiar, as with the second-generation American who, on visiting her parents’ home country of South Korea for the first time realized that the handgrips on public transit were at just the right height for her.
When we meet Hedwig Müller in In a Memory Palace, she is in the body of another old woman in an institutional-style care facility, removed from her dreamed-of home of Vienna, removed from life outside the walls of the institution, even removed from her own true body. She is an exile from herself, trapped entirely in a world of the unfamiliar. In a Memory Palace, like the exhibition that has emerged from it, is a work that sets about making the unfamiliar, in the life of one migrant, into the familiar for us all. The story is a bridge built between us and the migrant spirit, as perceived in ourselves and in others. As Edith Newton writes in the play, “A story once told opens a gate for the one who tells it and the one who listens.” In the memory palace, we walk through.
© 2025 In a Memory Palace. All rights reserved.