the shoebox.
How This Home Came To Be
arrival.
When I found the listing for my studio in March of 2021, I was mostly living with my brother and niece, Willow. I shared the basement with my aunt, Dooie, who sometimes lived there too––our beds in the 'room' my mother made when Brother and I outgrew our bunkbeds. But a few times each week I slept on my mother's couch to be with my cat, Handsome. And Tuesday nights were blissfully spent with
my partner, Tristan.
For nearly a year, it felt as though my life existed in the blue bag that I toted back and forth filled with just the essentials. I never unpacked––not even my toothbrush.
I was absolutely unsettled.
Enchanted by the thought of my own space, I spent hours scrolling through Ann Arbor housing after receiving my letter of acceptance from the
University of Michigan.
When I found the Shoebox, I could hardly wait to
settle in.
~
This video was filmed by my aunt, Dooie, on August 25th, 2021––the day that I moved in. It captures my first moments inside the Shoebox.
settling & unsettling.
The month before I moved, I lost my grandmother, 'grams.' Like a mother, she was instrumental in every aspect of my life and identity; a constant pillar of love, support, hope, friendship and wisdom. Thinking about a future without my grams will always feel impossible, but I have embraced sharing my grams’ stories, photos, relics and lessons with those I encounter. In this way, I have been able to carry her with me into new relationships and experiences, and keep her spirit shining in my life. Many of the objects in my Shoebox home are connected to my grandmother and serve as bearers of her memory. They remind me of the comfort that she brought me and her attention to/appreciation of objects––their histories and their potential.
~
If I could capture my first month at the Shoebox in one word it would be glow. Piece by piece I unpacked my things and myself inside my new space.
I'd made it.
~
On October 19, 2021 My father was diagnosed with Stage IV Pancreatic cancer. I packed the blue bag. Due to his condition and circumstances, I was his primary caretaker and advocate.
He passed on November 30, 2021.
~
Pack. Unpack. Pack. Unpack. Pack. Unpack. Pack.
Even with my things settled in place, I remained unsettled.
In what space, in what people, in what objects can I land? Find comfort, peace, healing and stability?
~
When I returned to Ann Arbor after
the death of my father,
the Shoebox grounded me.
I found comfort, peace, and healing here.
packing up.
In my final year of undergrad––my final year of life in my Shoebox home––I found myself longing to capture this place and moment of my life.
~
What does it mean to think about the home as an archive? What can the home reveal about the intersection of preservation with creation of
home/self ? What does home mean to me?
~
At the core of my project, these questions have guided my work and shaped my conversations with others.
To see the digital Shoebox photo album, click here.
