And these photographs keep me alive
This quote has been following me around all day:
When you can’t make sense of someone leaving, you sometimes try to make sense of what they left behind. And it makes it a whole lot easier when what they left you was beautiful.
It’s a nicely composed set of words, it hits at the aesthetic. People come, people go, we only have these things that they leave behind to carry them in our hearts. The last line, though, is the most interesting; that the pain of leaving is appeased by the beautiful. And it gets me to thinking about human beings as gatherers: of places and things and people. Does holding on to the nice bits make it easier? I’m not sure.
We undeniably collect things. We say that life is lived in the moments we make, but we’re more tied to the tangible reminders that keep the memories alive. Experience is the neatly packaged bits and baubles that we accumulate to make stories to tell: movie tickets from a first date; a map scrawled on a post-it note; the carefully-composed vacation photographs and dried-up rose petals and seashells from the seashore; news cuttings for births and deaths and graduations and in memoriams that rotate behind the same old fridge magnets.
Beautiful is one of those strange words. As I take stock of my little hole with people and memories buried away, I realize that none of what’s left is beautiful by some objective standard. An old tattered book and a shiny steel peppermill and a bent photograph and some shredded raffia tucked in a shoebox aren’t beautiful, but together they compose a narrative that’s long past, one that’s otherwise out of mind. And that carefully recreated nostalgia is probably better than the real thing.
I guess what puzzles me is: why do we work so hard to make sure we have these hard copies of the coming and the going? What makes the pieces beautiful? And why does accumulating and purging artifacts – as the case may be – help us carry on?
This is why I find linear time so fascinating. The presence of entropy in the universe suggests that linear time may not be entirely a result of our perception but may, in fact, have a grounding in the physical world (i.e., it’s not all in our head). The fact that we experience life in a single direction is the only reason memory has any meaning, since for us the past is, as you put it, “carefully recreated nostalgia”, and our future is unknown (and perhaps undetermined as well).
As a result of our linear existence, memory is our most precious possession. It is both inherently fragile and utterly essential, for it defines who we are: what we believe (and why we believe it). All that we will do is shaped by all that we’ve done. But, like any part of the human body, our memory degenerates over time. Like any story not kept fresh with retelling and Hollywood blockbusters of questionable artistic value, memories fade.
The tickets prove that the first date really happened (but the movie sucked). The map reminds you of the Sherpa you had to ask for directions. The relatives ooh and ahh over the vacation photographs, and the seashells provide entertainment long after the story of how dad got stuck in quicksand fails to garner laughter.
We are all archaeologists of our own minds. With the artifacts that we maintain, we construct a self-identity that allows us to navigate the world around us.
Not completely relevant, but here’s a tangentially related article that speaks about collecting “things” that I found recently.
(Also, have I told you that I absolutely love the way you craft your words?)
If you feel so inclined, here’s a perfect read for you to answer some of those questions:
‘Waste-Site Stories: The Recycling of Memory’ by Brian Neville and Johanne Villeneuve. –About why people keep some things, throw away others and the key role of memory.
Waste-Site Stories: The Recycling of Memory
I follow your posts for quite a long time and should tell that your articles always prove to be of a high value and quality for readers.
[...] And these photographs keep us alive (January) The last line, though, is the most interesting; that the pain of leaving is appeased by the beautiful. And it gets me to thinking about human beings as gatherers: of places and things and people. [...]