Often times, when faced with a set of closely outlined directions, and told to make something creative from it, I get stuck. I can’t get away from what I’m told and just think creatively. This was one of those weeks.
With the task “humanize”, and the suggestion to find faces in inanimate objects, and make things come to life, I spent the whole week (and then some) trying to look at things from a different perspective and find faces. Now, two points – 1, I’ve always found faces in weird things, wood grain, fabric patterns, food, whatever…. and point 2 – it’s always been just by chance. So while I set out looking for faces this past week, I was incredibly unsuccessful. So after much thinking, another idea finally arrived.
To humanize something doesn’t necessarily have to mean that you can see a face in it. It can mean to give something a more human like quality, to see a person when you look at something, or to perceive something to have more human characteristics than it actually does. Now, that’s something I can work with. As someone who is deeply sentimental, I have been mistaken to have too much love for material items when in actuality, I’ve attached a different meaning to certain items other than them being “just something nice to have”.
Personally, I think I do this in two ways. The first, is just that — something meant something to someone who I loved, or it was from someone I loved who is gone, so I’ve attached this unrealistic feeling to it. There are certain items in my life which I have obtained through these means, and I would be crushed if anything ever happened to them. Not because of their value, or cost, or because they’re nice. Simply because I’ve attached a memory of a person or place to these objects, and removing them would be like removing that person or place from my life all over again, well, at least a little bit.
flowers, the last ones you gave me
personal items from a loved one
the cause of joy, love, struggle, and learning
flowers, from the last time I saw you
The second way in which I attach too much meaning is with places. When I was growing up, my family had a little vacation trailer just outside of Bethany Beach, Delaware. We would go there every summer, sometimes more than once, sometimes with friends, sometimes with my grandparents, and it truly felt like home to me. Once we could no longer manage it, we sold it, and that truly saddened me. Thinking that we had abandoned this place that we have loved for so long made me feel guilty that I couldn’t do anything to keep it for us to have for years and memories to come. So, every so often, while at the beach during the summer, I would drive through the old neighborhood to check on the trailer. Someone had fixed it up, and it seemed to be doing well, until one summer. It was gone. The place where I felt I practically grew up was gone, just like that. I would picture the little trailer being so sad, as I was. Seriously though, I know it’s silly, it’s just a trailer, but it was The Trailer. The guilt that I had when we gave it up was nothing like I felt when it was gone. Someone just tore down something that meant so much to so many people in my life.
Now, I know that I have mentioned that I’ve moved several times in my life, so don’t worry, I don’t have a crisis ever time I have to go, but there are some places which stick with me. The trailer was one of them, so was a few of my apartments, including the one I’m currently living in, which I’m preparing to move out of and mourn shortly. The other was my house. I was 23 when I bought my house with my ex. Just think about that….we felt like it was such an achievement, I was only 23, and had done something some people only dream of. After a ridiculous amount of hardship, some caused by the house itself, others caused by work and relationships, we had to part ways, and leave the house. Now, this little place wich we lovingly called home stands abandoned, just wondering what is going to happen to it next. There was only one previous owner, who actually built the home with her husband, and lived there until we bought it. Again, I’ve attached this persona to the house, imagining it feeling saddened and betrayed that we would treat it in this manner when the previous owner didn’t want to give it up. Again, guilt. Again, regret, but there was nothing that I could do. Not many people understand that, or the circumstances of why the house now stands vacant. Since I technically still own it, and can access it, I’m prone to the same behaviors as before, checking in on it from time to time, but in this instance, I’m actually able to go in and look around. If you’re as sentimental as I am, I don’t recommend it, but what can I say, I suppose I’m a glutton for punishment. Looking around, remembering how things used to look, I feel like the house has this anger towards me, spite, misunderstanding. I remember the things that we did, were going to do, and the fun that we had. If these walls could talk. A saying often referencing gossip, really has multiple uses. I think I have a pretty good understanding of what that statement could stand to mean — I could imagine my house saying a lot to me.
our initials in the pavement of the backyard we loved
layers of paint, from when the house was loved
fingerprints from when my dad came around to help
a place where I would sit outside, lean back, look up, and think
how many hands have touched this