Weber’s Weblog

I learned early on that everything has a story, even the inanimate, the wordless, the still, and the sometimes forgotten. It all began when I was young. I grew up watching my grandmother preserve relics from her past in a safe. She wasn’t hiding her money; she was preserving her mementos with sacred air. She saves. It’s what she does. She has all of my report cards, the slippers from the hospital the day that I was born. Her great grandmothers fancy china. All throughout my life, my favorite treat was opening up that safe with the shiny silver key; unlocking a door to past times, to past memories. With each tiny relic, she told a story. I would sit, silenced, motionless, hearing her words dance around my ears. The link between time, from past to present suddenly unveiled itself like a forgotten secret. To touch something that was in my great grandfathers hands brought me to him, it brought me closer to my past than I had ever felt.

Those days on my grandfather’s bed left me hungry. I learned more about myself in relation to my family but the insatiable hunger grew; I needed to learn about myself in relation to the world. My first door to another time opened in a strawberry field. Surrounded by green, I begin my hunt. It isn’t long before I hear my mother and sister frantically calling me. And there it is; orange and chiffon has never looked so beautiful. I gape in awe. Frozen. Struck by its delicateness. I touch softly, as if not to upset the aged fabric, as if it will be the last thing that I will ever touch. My fingers graze its story like the pages of a book. And when I finally put it on, I am a flapper. Already, I am closer to the roaring 20s then any history book could ever account. My first vintage dress, a real time machine.

Time is an ocean, swallowing the new like broken glass, washing it onto its shores creating smooth, colorful, sea glass. In an age where things are built to break, I’ll hold onto those that were built to last; that were brought to life by hands and not machines; that took months to make instead of days; that valued quality over quantity; the product over the money. Keep eating, I have no problems taking all of your scrapes, my little morsels of wisdom. Let me take them all, make them feel loved, like an old lady giving a home to stray cats.

Part I:

The film is about old things. The less obvious subject is about the stories and history that old things carry with them. I am trying to understand how I have come to choose the old over the new. How have I come to value old in a society where new is advertised as better. Another less obvious subject would be how the relationships with people in my life helped to form these opinions. I guess that I already know that my grandmother saved things from her past, this impacted me as a child. My mother used to take the ugliest old furniture and turn it into something amazing. My mother, however, had a little bit of a shopping habit, so I watched her buy and buy new things to the point where it wasn’t healthy. I guess this ultimately made me reject the feelings of needing new, new, new. I hope to understand how I have arrived at this stage. I think that these ideas are subconsciously at the root of my family, but nobody in my family is really like this to my degree, so I hope to understand why it impacted me more than others.

Part II:

I used to think that things were disposable, but now I realize that everything has a story. I used to think that I needed new, but now I realize that old can be better. It gives you a better connection to your history. I like that older things were made in a society. I get really down about the direction of the world and how it is so driven by money.
The catalyst, again, is my family. I watched my grandmother save objects from her family, not for money, but as reminders of other times. She told me their stories. Learning about history, about my past, has brought me closer to these feelings.
The results, it helped me learn and understand who I was as a person in this society. It helped me explore who I was and how I got here. It makes me value the quality of things in the past over the idea of quantity now. Quantity=Money. People used to be so much more connected to the things that they sold, now it just seems to be about money. I reduce, reuse, and recycle to help reduce waste!

Part III:

I feel more connected to the past. You can’t really know yourself unless you know you past. It helps me know my place in the world better. I see the potential in things that are broken, or worn out. I don’t feel like I need to buy new things to be happy. I feel like I am more free to express myself in a different way, to feel more connected to history.

I want my audience to value the old, to realize all of the stories and past that they carry with them. I think that most people think of older things are trash or outdated, but I’d like them to realize that you can make them your own and it would really help the environment and condition of the world if we did try to reuse and repurpose things. I think that by connecting things to teaching you about your past, this can help to explain the topic.