Blackout is a way of speaking about nostalgia, longing, and lostness. We view memory as a landscape: sometimes a city, sometimes skin, sometimes a sheet of paper where past routes are etched. We are drawn to things in which the past lingers longer than usual: to floor plans of houses that cannot be returned to; to alleys and paths that can never be retraced; to the imprints of bodies on the edge of a bed, to the traces of those who have passed. Surfaces become the relief of memory, and the "floating," inaccessible points on Google Maps and photographs become rehearsals for future touches of what was.