Treasure Trove

some of grandpa Larry’s film slides

display case my dad’s parents built into the basement stairs

a wee animation about boxes, emotions, and memories

If you’ve ever written me anything ever, I do have it in a box, I do go to read it at the beach, I do cry and remember the details I’ve forgotten, and I have so much gratitude.

childhood bedroom altar accumulation

On both sides of my lineage, I come from people who bundle their objects in thick swaths of sentimental value. I come from collectors. Maybe, at times, it’s verged on hoarding; I’m sure there’s scarcity wrapped up in nostalgia. But it meant there were loads of rainy days in my childhood spent rummaging. I’m sure there’s some loneliness in developing such intense relationships with objects. Maybe loneliness is just an initiation to a more-than-human world. An animated world! A cartoon world!

I love hanging out with older folks, kindred spirits with decades on me to collect things. I love sitting by their sides, getting shown the archives, drawers, oddities, found objects, treasure troves. I love hearing the stories the 3D conjures. Memory is so spacial.

I was a child obsessed with boxes. I enjoyed organizing (I use that word extremely relatively - maybe I mean rearranging? lol I’m obviously not organized) more than playing with things. I took in the essence of objects like I couldn’t possibly create stories for them. I let them tell me their stories. I started my own collections very young — rocks, shells, coins, elephants. I must have at least 20+ boxes of paper — birthday cards, 3rd grade poetry, random receipts. It all feels like evidence of something…

I used my rooms like one big box to display everything — more installation than bedroom. My spaces were very loud with so many little things tacked to walls, hanging from ceilings telling long silly stories. Everything kept me good company.

But life got increasingly digital, and I started using Instagram like a shelf or a box.

And then Instagram got increasingly terrible, I couldn’t rummage — what a scared act re-remembering is!

So, here I am now, nomadic without a permanent physical space for almost year (that’s hard for a Taurus rising), disillusioned with digital spaces, and experimenting with this portable web shelf to display my treasures.

If you have time, rummage away.