In the studio I have an old cupboard in which I have put lots of things that I have collected over the years.
The cupboard is not a particularly attractive on, but it stood in our hallway at my parents home for many years. Above it was the wall phone and you would stand and lean against the cupboard whilst chatting on the phone. I would often scribble on the timber at the same time and it still has those pen marks etched into the wood.
When my parents went their separate ways, a lot of the things that make up family memories were dispersed amongst the four children. It was a tough time. My brother took the cupboard and kept is stored for years. When the studio was built he thought that it may be useful for me and have some new life given to it. He gave me the option of taking it or he would throw it out.
I picked it up from his house and it was subsequently installed into it’s new home with one of it’s old owners.
Ugly little cupboard that it is, it fits perfectly into the corner. I waxed the parched looking oak timber and it seemed a little better. I realised that it was the ideal place to put lots of my things that have been packed away in boxes around the house.
These are things I have had since childhood, collected through the years and each item has a story behind it that means a great deal. Not particularly interesting stories, but when I unpacked each item and looked at it I remembered so many things.
There are many bits to put up on the walls here and I expect that eventually when anyone comes in here they may feel as though they are squeezing their way into someones head.
I have decided to take a picture of each “thing”and write a note about it. Often I think that by the time my son has questions he wants to ask about my life, I may be too old to tell him and my memory will be vague and full of inconsistencies.
He may not ever be interested, but already he asks so many questions that I think that there will be many more in years to come.
When I look into the cupboard I am consumed with such a range of emotions, all of them so very satisfying.
Sometimes I just open the glass door to peer in and smell the fusty odour of old timber.
There is nothing on this earth that smells as lovely than the whiff of something that brings forth good memories within.
I could become a cupboard sniffing addict.
What a way to go!