Seeking Home
introduction
It is very important to first make the distinction between house and home. While house refers to an architecture of living such as a townhouse, apartment, or any other structure demarcated as shelter, home from here on will be used as a term of comfort, belonging, and a feeling of sanctuary. Although we all experience the notion of home in very different ways there is an understanding that it transcends place and it's more typically an amalgamation of people, objects, experiences that are committed to different architectures whether they are houses or not. Home can be as simple as where you keep your belongings, and as complex as a space where you feel that you can completely be yourself, but no matter what becomes home, it is important to recognize that whatever we see as home is a vital part of who we are.
So what happens when that is revoked or changed? When we lose a home we are losing a piece of ourselves, likewise when we change, home changes too. This happens through the process of moving whether it's physically or through time, losing access to spaces, objects and people, or emotional change through evolution in identity. Some of the most obvious instances of flux are moving to college, losing a family member, or even coming out. As home is a direct reflection of identity, it will continue to evolve with us.
Home as a {self} portrait
Thinking of home as a container, we can examine its contents (object, action, spirit) to look for clues to the identities of those inhabiting the space. If pieces of home are a reflection of identity we must look closely at decorative objects, sacred relics, deeply guarded secrets, gifted items, workarounds, clutter, routine, space division, et. infinitum. Each of these holds a key in unlocking the many facets of who we are and what makes us unique. It should also be stated that not everything is a vital piece of the puzzle. There will always be a reason that something is brought into our lives whether it was found, sought after, or given but sometimes a cup is just a cup, and we wear boots because it’s cold outside. Finding where instances lie on the spectrum of importance gives us a better idea of how we should interpret them. The other important part of this is how and where we choose to place these instances of home. Investigating display tactics gives additional insight into how owners feel about each piece. There is a huge difference between what is proudly displayed on the fireplace mantle and what is tucked under the bed.
We can better understand this by looking at two projects. The first is Tammy Rae Carland’s Lesbian Bed Series in which we are given an intimate portrait of someones sleeping space. While we can assume that a major identifier is that the inhabitants are lesbians, there is so much more we can discern, mainly that all lesbian spaces are not identical. In Lesbian Bed 6 Carland is looking at a bed outfitted with Star Wars, Wizard of Oz, and Roadrunner sheets recently slept in. Carland instructs her participants not to touch the spaces in an effort to make them as accurate to use as possible. The wrinkled sheets feel like a deep sleep only to be woken up by streaming light from the window. The sheets feel like an attempt to reclaim a childhood that was overshadowed by attempts to hide oneself. Although we could assume this is in a bedroom, part of a house, from just this image alone we cannot discern how the participant truly feels about this space. True understanding of comfort and belonging can only be confirmed by the inhabitants themselves.
The second project is William Eggleston’s Sumner, Mississippi which shows a dining room table set with four plates and two platters. Although there is plenty of food it appears that only one person is dining and that the table is set in a way that is more formal than a typical meal. The china is gold rimmed, the platters are silver, there is a salad fork included, a bread plate is set, and there are live flowers on the table. Using these clues we can assume that the inhabitant is of a certain class, and because they are seated at the head of the table they are most likely the patriarch of the house. There are two additional placemats at the table so we can assume that there are other people who live in the house. With this chosen amalgamation of objects we not only see a societal hierarchy of socioeconomic standing, but also the role that the table plays in it.
Architecture as backdrop
Whereas the last section focuses mostly on the idea that home is a conglomerate of pieces, this section looks at life acting upon its surroundings. As life happens in the built environment, it acts as the context to events as they happen. Because much of life happens in the house, its architecture and belongings are constantly a part of our lives and can become attached to daily motions, special events, and even trauma. When I think of my memories of Thanksgiving, I always picture the stairs we would sit on for photos. Originally these would have been the yellow itchy carpeted stairs at my grandparents house but in more recent years we have transferred this act onto any stairs we can find. In this case, the architectural context of those memories has become so ingrained that group family photos are always associated with stairs no matter if they were the original stairs or not. The architecture of the house is extremely complex in the sense that many of us have access to similar spaces but we have all interacted with them in a variety of ways. Many people have experienced stairs in a domestic setting but only the people in my family know how strong that architectural association is for us.
To take a deeper look into this we can look at two archival photographs. The first is Doug DuBois’ My Brother Luke, Christmas Eve. In this image we see a boy (aged 8-12) walking down the stairs holding two wreaths. While there is much to take away from the actions in the image in this case we are much more interested in the architecture. Because it's the holiday season we can assume that the house that they are in is either Luke’s childhood home or a house that family or close friends live in. Christmas marks a momentous time of the year that children especially tend to hold nostalgic memories of and the architecture of context is something that may become associated with these memories. Some of the main elements of this photo in particular are the wallpaper, the carpet, using the stairs as a staging tool, and of course the fact that the house currently has christmas decorations.
In Sage Wohler’s photograph Washington DC, we see a woman getting ready with different pieces of outfits strewn across the room. The scene is framed by a double or queen sized bed and an ornate fireplace which in addition to the age of the women hints that this is most likely the primary bedroom in the house. She appears to be preparing for a high class event based on the dress she is wearing which matches the high class furnishings seen in the photo specifically on the mantle. This architecture is typically indicative of an older house that subscribes to the norms of the traditional upper class ideas of interior decoration.
Transferral of home
As architecture tends to be a highly fixed and static expression of home, it can often be easier to express home through objects that remind us of that architecture. This can especially be seen during transition periods of moving or loss. We can commemorate our previous home through the displacement of memory onto the objects that we chose to take with us. We can't carry an architecture with us so rather, we attach our memories to objects. There are certain objects that we never grow attached to that are easily replaceable, but certain objects store an attachment to home when we don’t feel like our architecture is doing the job. This can be seen in a hand me down table, the first tv you were able to afford, or even a vase that looks like the one your mom has.
Camilo Ontivero’s Temporary Storage, made up of many of the artists’ own personal belongings included things like a television, a bed, a desk chair, and many other non essential items that the artist had grown attached to while in their more nomadic stage of life. These items represent not only the essentials but the objects that we slowly grow attached to. In this piece, the objects are strapped to each other and precariously perched on legs made of work horses. This is again reminiscent of moving and the process of consolidation through packing. Although each object alone appears to be a domestic buildup of belongings, together they become representative of a life in motion.
Carmen Argote’s 720 sq ft. Home Mutations project features the carpet from her childhood home in Los Angeles. After moving from Mexico the family settled into a small apartment. Although Argote says the house never felt small, when looking at the carpet installed in a gallery space, you can better understand just how cramped they were. Later as an adult Argote found out that the building was up for demolition and was able to secure the carpet from the apartment. Although she will never be able to live in that space again, Argote now has indisputable evidence of a home.
Projected Nostalgias
The re-creation of a known space has the power to transport back to memories and emotions. By working with forms, objects, and sensory environments we can highlight important specifics from a scene. As long as we are able to recognize the memory, it can then be tampered with. It is important to note that it is impossible to perfectly recreate anything the way it truly was. Time itself of course cannot be altered, but maybe this is for the best as some things are better left to the past. This is however an opportunity to purposely alter an environment to create an unrealistic version of reality. If I were to take a photograph of a moment it would document the way a moment looked. I can document what it smelled like or if there were birds chirping in the background but to accurately portray the feeling of the space, the emotion of people (if pictured), the memories of the past triggered by the environment is a step past replica.
Michael McMillen’s Central Meridian (The Garage) is a three room installation filled with everything and anything you could find in a garage. A sled, cleaning products, old flyers, an old tv, and of course, a car. While these objects together could display a sense of garage-ness, it is the texture of the wooden walls, the musty smell, the chatter of the radio, and the dim lights that convey the feeling that this is a place you could spend hours taking in all of the little discoveries. You can even start to picture a curmudgeon of a man traipsing from room to room, beer in hand, listening to an update on the local baseball team, before going back to his hovering position tinkering under the hood.
Chiharu Shiota’s Trace of Memory reimagines memory by working with fragments of a memory and replacing the majority of the space with string. The string is repeatedly stretched through the space becoming quite formal through a series of spider web like weavings. Rather than focus on the actual formal nature the string acts as a representation of the emotion tied to space. This site specific piece was designed to be installed at The Mattress Factory in Pittsburgh PA. Using the existing architecture of the retrofitted buildings, Shiota adds objects and furniture to be held captive by the string structures creating an overall chaotic emotionally charged atmosphere.
Identity lost | identity preserved
Most of this paper has focused on ideas that home is populated with fragments of identity but what happens when identity is lost and all of the fragments remain? This isn't just about identity evolving, adding and replacing pieces like the ship of Theseus but rather a complete loss such as death. When mourning the loss of a life we are often met with the challenge of how we memorialize their life. How can we sum up the entirety of life in something as simplified as an obituary without even taking into consideration that words alone cannot truly represent life.
Post mortem portraits were done in several different mediums such as death masks, death photography, or deathbed portraits such as Berent Hiwaetz’s Deathbed Portrait of Christian IV. Here the king of Denmark is pictured laying waiting for death to come and is positioned in a way so that we do not see the scarring of the battle that ultimately led to his death. This idealized version of the king's last moments have him in fine clothes posing with a crown and scepter. These two items help the viewer to understand that leading his country was a major part of his identity. The artist could have chosen to paint him as he was, a dying man, and yet these facets of identity have become part of the image's lasting narrative.
Etienne Boulee’s Cenotaph for Newton is a stunning display of unrealized architecture dedicated to physicist Sir Issac Newton consisting mainly of two images. A massive concrete sphere is pierced to create small openings that when light shines through it appears as though the space is filled with stars. Thus during the day when sun shone through it would appear to be night. This of course is a nod to many of Newton’s contributions not only to science, but more specifically to our understanding of space. The cenotaph not only functions as a final resting place for Newton but also acts as a commemorative memorialization to Newton striking a balance between identity lost and identity preserved.
Seeking Home
In December of 2020 my family gathered for our first christmas without either of my grandparents. My grandfather passed away in December of 2009 and my grandmother decided to sell the family house. I had grown up 5 minutes down the road and spent most weekends and holidays surrounded by loved ones in that house. I learned how to set the table for special dinners, how to make biscuits from scratch, I took my first steps toward becoming an artist, and felt an overwhelming sense of belonging. This was the first identity loss for me. Not only was I losing a close relative, I was losing the place that had felt most like home to me.
The second loss came a few years later when my grandmother was diagnosed with alzheimers around the time I left for college. As she lost her memories, we started to lose the bond that had held us so close together for so many years. We never stopped loving each other but we weren't able to communicate in the same ways, and her clearest memories were from before I was alive. The more she slipped away, the more I clung onto the memories from before.
The third loss was her unexpected death from the Covid-19 pandemic. I had no idea that a few weeks prior when we spoke through a window at her nursing facility would be the last time that I ever saw her. The funeral was raw. Nothing seemed to hold a candle to her memory. No words could encompass our time together so instead I tried to build it.
The final piece is a dining room table created for us to share a final meal. It is laid with perfect china, salad forks in their proper places, floral arrangements, and food we prepared together. Intersecting the table is a reminder, a window frame. This is not only meant to symbolize her death and our separation but suggest to the viewer that the table has most seats together while one lone seat is separate. This is representative of the fact that my family can still dine together but that the head of the table is missing. Seeking Home is a testament not only to who we both are but to the joint identity that is shared through our overlap in home.
