In writing *"I Remember"*, it was never just music from Garth Skiff's blog

When I wrote *"I Remember"*, it wasn't just music—it was a return to memories buried in time. Each verse transported me to my whānau, and to the weight of those years.

*"I Remember"* is a musical act of remembering. Not just the good times, but all of it: the chaos and the calm. It captures the the love of my mother.

This piece is a lifeline that ties me to my past self. And in singing it, I give breath to those who shaped me.

That's how I became an artist. Not as a calculated choice, but because I had to. I needed something stronger than words. And that's what sculpture became: a conversation with the past.

Sculpture taught me patience. Unlike a song, stone and wood don't lie. I learned to shape pain, to take what was hidden and give it breath. Each sculpture is a way of saying: *I survived this, and I remember*.

My creative journey isn't about perfection. It's about connection. Different mediums, same truth. When I can't carve, I sing. When I can't sing, I write. And when all I can do is breathe and be still—I listen. That, too, is art.

There's a phrase that anchors me through it all:

**"Because of you, I am; and because of me, you are."**

That's what *"I Remember"* means to me. It's not just a song—it's a whisper to those who walked before.

When I sing it, I think of my brother's laughter. I think of the hands that helped me up.

I remember.

And in doing so,

I live.

So when you hear the song, you're not just hearing me—you're hearing my journey. It's not performance—it's a return. A healing. A remembering.

And that's what my art is always trying to do.

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