#material objects

“I would like to purchase one of your material objects.” -Gabriel

Storage and “stuff” is certainly something we can all relate to. Why are you interested in how it shaped ancient Rome?

It’s something we rarely think about and then suddenly when you start thinking about it, you realize there’s a lot of deep historical truths it hides. When I first saw a self-storage facility, it stood out to me because I had never seen one in Europe. What on earth is this, right? They look garage-like and they’re very intriguing, but they’re also very shielded. I really had to wrap my head around what is this thing and what do people store there.

I was very cynical about it until we moved here and now all of our stuff is in a self-storage facility. So it’s quite liberating if you can put it away behind closed doors. Also, I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to do without it now that we’ve had one. It just seems so convenient to have a storage space where you can declutter the stuff that is working, I guess, on a different rhythm than the rhythm of your life.

Stuff asks things of us. It makes demands on your time, on your energy, on your attention. And how people chose to negotiate that and use storage is productive as a way of thinking about it.

I've also reading lots of books and blogs about hoarding and clutter as mildly productive procrastination. The writers often contemplate the role of physical objects/spaces in our memories. In no particular order...

Year of No Clutter by Eve Schaub (2017)

Eve has a problem with clutter. Too much stuff and too easily acquired, it confronts her in every corner and on every surface in her house. When she pledges to tackle the worst offender, her horror of a "Hell Room," she anticipates finally being able to throw away all of the unnecessary things she can't bring herself to part with: her fifth-grade report card, dried-up art supplies, an old vinyl raincoat. But what Eve discovers isn't just old CDs and outdated clothing, but a fierce desire within herself to hold on to her identity. Our things represent our memories, our history, a million tiny reference points in our lives. If we throw our stuff in the trash, where does that leave us?

I especially appreciated this passage titled nostalgia by Schaub

First and foremost, I am afraid of losing the past. Logically, my line of thinking usually unfolds like this” in large part, our memories make us who we are. The thing is, I have a terrible memory. Truly. I’d like to take this moment to apologize to every person whose name I’ve ever forgotten, which is pretty much everybody. Other ridiculous things I have been known upon occasion to forget include by own phone number, zip code, and time zone. It’s bad. Consequently objects have become my crutch of choice, helping me to recall things I never would otherwise. I’m always shocked by the things that objects can bring back into my mind with vivid clarity, which I otherwise am certain would have been forgotten entirely. As if they never even happened. Without my memories, who am I? If I equate memories and objects, then to discard an object is to lose a piece of myself forever. This is why I keep souvenirs even of negative occurrences in my life, for fear that without them I would forget that event and even any lesson I may have learned from that event. … Sometimes I feel like that guy [in Memento] — sending notes to my future self in the form of objects. I fear that I am dangerously close to saying that somehow, without my objects, I cease to exist; however, I know with my rational mind that this is not true.