Making A Statement

For the past couple of weeks, I tried to put together a nice blog about the relationships between imagination & decay. I wasn't happy with it. Why? I think it's because my blog says something about me, and I don't know if I was comfortable with that something being an obsession with rusting toaster ovens and the unfathomable atrocities of human history. Furthermore, I worked for hours and hours (and more hours) trying to string together the components of the concept; it was tedious and strained and surprisingly not as rewarding as I expected all of the effort to be. So clearly, I didn't feel contended with the representation of myself that was taking shape. Under oath, yes, I do love crooked mailboxes and dabble occasionally in tracking down eighty-nine-year-old, non-functioning cameras on e-bay. BUT I wanted to do something that truly excited me for this blog and obviously, that wasn't it!

So - a fresh attempt and I'm really psyched, this is going to be all about how we see ourselves (and want to be seen by others) through the stuff we choose to surround ourselves with. It's not a space where I'm going to trash materialism and righteously preach the intrinsic value of the human spirit when not weighed down by our oppressive, stuff-ridden world. I'm actually very interested in why and how these frameworks are meaningful, and what the consequences (positive and negative) are of constructing identity by way of association. I like (as I continue to remind you all) old things, mismatched socks, dresses, french toast, origami, laughing so hard that my stomach hurts, sleeping in a boat, those little birds that hang out in parking lots, unusual words (like defenestration and quixotic), green things, etcetera. I also like being a female but sometimes like to think about what it would be like to be a boy (mostly because I always wanted to be a superhero and all of the coolest ones are boys); I've accumulated a number of underrated instruments and that brings me great satisfaction; I work at a small public library and I shelve books; these aren't useless things, but it is fascinating that, without even thinking about it, we allow them to become us - want them to become us because it's so uncomfortable feeling in-between. It's a struggle, always has been, to define ourselves thoroughly; by aligning ourselves with certain occupations, preferences, values, objects, groups, beliefs, and interests we are able to paint a picture of who we are in and out; we are the things we are made up, like jars filled with an eclectic mass of things that somehow belong to the same collection. And it does; it feels like I'm collecting myself thing after thing, as if each addition reenforces this person and elaborates her. I like this; let's explore more together.