Objects of power
When I was in Massachusetts I went to my childhood house to sort through belongings. One of the things I found was a box of keepsakes that contained a lot of letters and post cards and ticket stubs and random scraps of paper. As I rifled through the box, I came across some notes I had made on a napkin. When I picked it up and read the first words I was instantly transported back to a hazy bar in Georgia where I was swaying and listening to a man sing. The words I had written were about the singer and the way he held the microphone, the way he emoted. In my head the moment felt real again, as real as the night it had happened. I could hear the music, I could feel the space and atmosphere, and I remembered what it felt like to hear the singer and write the words. Now, prior to picking up this napkin, my brain had no active recollection of this night or singer. This was not a formative memory in a way that it plays frequently for me. I don’t recall ever once remembering it in fact. That night had disappeared from my memory as far as I knew, until I touched the napkin and read the words I wrote.
Touching that napkin and reading the words activated a recall, a librarian calling up a book that would have otherwise been lost amongst the thousands without its unique card catalogue code. I realized that my brain stores memories both internally and externally. The way my brain shows me images is not consistent and I don’t have much control over it. When I try to remember or picture something specific, it takes a lot of work to generate the image and it’s fuzzy, shifty, and defies definition. When I try to picture something in general terms, my brain will quickly flip through what feels like thousands of similar options. Picture an apple? My brain will show me every apple it’s ever seen but I wont be able to stop on any particular one, its just an apple highlight reel that once it starts running, I can’t stop it until a new directive take over my brain.
When I was touching the napkin with the words, my brain was able to rotate the memory, I was able to move around in it, to feel as though I was there. When I was not touching the napkin, the images and sensory feel was completely different, like a a ghost impression, a memory embossed but not really tangible. This made me think about my tendency to collect and make objects and to surround myself with those that feel like they hold power. I am far more drawn to objects with a history and previous owners than ones fresh off the corporate shelf. I am a very bad capitalist. I want the thing that has already proven it can exist for 100 years, not the thing that will break in the next 2. But I am coming to see it isn’t just about the idea of spending money on low quality things. It’s about the objects and how much they hold. It’s an acknowledgement that when we pass things down, we pass down our experiences too if we’re open to it. I can tell when an object has contained someone’s memories, someone’s identity. When we choose to keep those, treasure them, we are holding onto an energy stored there, that doesn’t get destroyed.
Souvenirs bought do not hold this power I don’t think. They may recall the structure of a memory, like calling up the printed itinerary of a trip, but they won’t recall the feeling of being in a place usually. For that, the object has to be personal and found or received in a way with meaning. Things we buy carry less and less weight the more money we have because there is no crisis driving us toward them usually, and very few items require a build up over time. The value of things we collect has shifted. Capitalism has taught people to value the new over the proven, it has taught people that fixing power is less than purchasing power, that saving is not as good as spending. None of this benefits people but instead only benefits cooperations that are killing our planet with profit seeking. Meat used to be a luxury, a once a week Sunday situation for many. Then capitalism and industrialization shifted our idea of what plenty could be and what we were entitled. ‘Because we can, we should,’ has became the new model for life it seems.
Lately, because even I have been guilty of making things just because I can, I have been asking myself more to justify why something should exist. Should I make a piece of art just because I have the impulse? Is it worth the resources used? Not always. I am not stifling myself by reigning myself in. I am purposefully recognizing a wasteful way of being and working where the existence of potential seems to be enough for people to rush into things instead of pausing with real self awareness and critical thought about what our motivations are. Am I making to be validated? To get attention? To regulate? To make money? What is my purpose in each moment and does it align with what I want it to be? Am I putting words into the ether just to hear myself and get the echoes? Or do I believe there is real value here? This year, I am requiring real value before I proceed.
I am thinking about every object that I choose to possess and thinking about how we are responsible for what we own and that responsibility doesnt end when you change your mind or the object ages. Landfills and thrift stores are full. Donating things of no value to people who have nothing is not ok. We have to do better as a world with what deserves to be made. Stop the redundancy and think about each action and creation with purpose instead of convenience. Can you care for the things you produce? If the answer is no, you should produce less. Do the objects you hoard recall sensory rich memories or are they unnecessary decoration that bring you little meaning?
In 2025, seek the objects full of power and meaning. Try to understand others through their objects. Let you empathy extend so you can unlock the narratives embedded in things we save. I guarantee your life will feel richer without spending more.
The images attached to this post are from a paper-mache unit I did with 6th graders in 2012 when teaching for Studio in a School in New York City. The assignment was to think of an object the students had lost or outgrown, something they no longer possessed but missed terribly, an object that still held power for them even though it was no longer physically present. Then we remade the objects in paper mache and wrote the story of why the object held meaning and power and deserved to have a place holder where the memory still existed. I made the camera to replace my first camera that I received as a high school graduation present that was later stolen from my apartment in Brooklyn in a robbery. Students created a wide range of objects, including houses and beds for students that were experiencing being houseless. The unit was incredibly emotional for all. Creating an object that is tied to a memory is a way of using the object as an external hard drive. The memory and energy is transferred to the object, giving it meaning and power not only to the maker but to others as well. People can tell when objects have mattered to others. We need to again cultivate this sense that capitalism has tried to kill.