Strings Attached
I am at a point in my life where I am contemplating what comes next. After careers, raising children, and building a home filled with meaning, I now find myself surrounded by a lifetime of possessions. Some were discovered in a flea market, others gifted at a birthday, inherited from a parent, or created at summer camp. Many were needed while learning my craft in my second career as a photographer. Together, they form an archive of a life fully lived.

 

Now, I am reconsidering these objects, questioning whether they still belong to the person I am becoming. This process begins by gathering them from their familiar places and holding each one. As I do, the memories come back; where it came from, why I kept it, who it connects me to.

 

I arrange these objects by color, reducing them to a single visual element and stripping them of their personal narratives. They stop being souvenirs of specific moments and exist simply as forms, shapes, and color. A ceramic figurine that was precious to my mother, hence precious to me, becomes just an object among the many others. What once held deep personal significance is reduced to surface, inviting a different kind of seeing. The literal strings that attach these objects to me can be at last cut, or not. After they are arranged and photographed, I make a list of each item and what I remember about it. I’m realizing that what I value isn’t really the object, but the story attached to it.

 

I am pulled in two directions. I’m attached to these things, but I also feel weighed down by them. I think about letting them go—giving them away, selling them, or consigning them to the landfill. When I leave on a vacation and return, I can see clearly that I don’t need most of them. Back home, surrounded by them, I am stuck trying to move forward while still holding on.

 

This project has allowed me to pause and begin to separate the memory from the object. This work is about that moment of transition and recognizing the past, but not being held by it. And freeing up room for whatever comes next.