How does one pack up a life?
Probably not by twiddling thumbs and substacking about it
I’m giving notice on my apartment on Monday and leaving New York, finally, to go… whoknowswhere. Which is obviously terrifying, so I am doing the thing that I do, which is to organize my terror into a project, making it into work (like a proper New Yorker).
I have an idea to treat the collection, and either trashing or packing of my belongings as an opportunity to catalog them. Like I’m making a will, or a biography in objects. My life in tote bags, in framed pictures, in weird artisanal salts I’ve somehow collected from all over the world. My life in robes, in flannel shirts, in boots. My life in cuff links, in Berber beads from Morocco, in coconut beads from Hawaii. My life in Imari bowls. In glassware from the Orient Express, in plates I bought from Heath of California because they remind me of my childhood.
My life in luggage, in film negatives. My life in books — books collected during covid for the research of a book I was writing; books to read to go to sleep; books to relax or to stimulate. My life in coffee makers, in Dansk dutch ovens. My life in disused ab rollers, ab wheels, in stoop-found dumbbells. My life in discards — sidewalk end tables, ebay suzanis, LiveAuction sofas, thrift store lamps. My life in rugs, from Oaxaca, from Ourika, from New Mexico and Greece. My life in ornaments. My Masai spear. My signed prints. My life in window unit air conditioners. My life in cords. What, even, do all of these cords do but hold me to this place, wire me into a sense of security, into a parasocial life, to my debts and my infrequent jobs, to all of the entertainment in the known world. My life in scarves.
My life, all of it, ready to be packed into a bindle at the end of a stick over my shoulder like a cartoon hobo. My life in running away. My life, very soon, entirely in cardboard boxes — bound for who knows what storage unit. So maybe in the meantime, I will photograph each of these things in still life, in making a kind of catalogue raisonne of belongings. My life in looking for the right equipment or skill set to do the assigned task. My life, maybe as a still life stylist. My life in camera flashes I will need. My life in putting things off, in delaying the inevitable by creating a project. My life, come Monday.
My life during lockdown looked like this.
Private viewing sale!
To pack up life & just go… sounds idyllic