I've never actually put anything up on my wall before, ever, even in BA. I tried it at the last minute today and I understand now. as I was doing it, it felt more like I was actually making a piece of work rather than just randomly putting images up. rather, putting images up randomly IS the work. it makes me think of -the diagram thing I was and am still very much interested in, like a huge diagram or mindmap - like my exhibition proposal for BA -like the madman/investigation. it's liberating but it felt like it is falling into a cliché. or it is very easy to fall into a cliché. I like the act of writing, pencil on disposable, recyclable paper. I like drawing on cartridge, cheap printer paper. there's something unprecious about it that makes me treat it like it is precious. I guess that is comparable to the abundant amateur casual 'throwaway' images I take. the purpose of those images of the everyday is not the aesthetics of it but the singular purpose of noting down of an event, a marker in time, a hint of what happened on that day at that specific second that could only mean something really to me. I suppose that may make it only viewable to me, others will not take interest. it is a diary.
I had the urge to scan every single thing that I own. I know similar things have been done before, like my friend said she knows of an artist who had photographed everything he had - and I found another example here as well: https://coolmaterial.com/home/this-artist-spent-two-years-photographing-everything-she-owns/ but with these examples they have the urge to categorise them, by shape, colour, function, whatever, and I don't have the urge to do that at all. so why do I want to do it? to see each object in a different light? in a more investigative, confrontational manner? why are you here in my life and why are you still here? why have I kept you and what do you mean to me? this reminds me of what Paul was talking about in the lecture how he moved houses and had to re-examine every single thing he owned turn it over and all. that's the pain of moving places, and I know that feeling. this also reminds me of when I took over the edit's instagram for a week and stumbling upon the lifetime collection of Robert Opie which later became the Museum of Advertising and Packaging.
perhaps the scanning made me see how I could SEE my objects in a new way. perhaps it wakes you up from the new things becoming 'old' 'unfashionable' 'outmoded' ... ?! perhaps by placing it into this 'limbo space' (this ghostly, eerie, 'empty' scanner space) it projects the object out of that space in my eyes. can objects 'have' spaces? like, the space 'of' the object? and is (internal? embodied?) space the same as the space that surrounds it? and how big is this space? does it only exist when I think of it, hold the object in my hands, grab it carelessly, does the space glitch as I move with it? and what does it mean for the object to be 1) a camera and 2) a camera of unknown/non-existent/possible/inaccessible history 3) a camera that possibly holds the 'revolutionary energies' as 'the outmoded' object? especially having lost its original function? is it a shell of what it once was or has it never been used to the fullest extent for it to be discarded? could it be considered as 'new'? the woman told me it has never been opened. I have my doubts but I believe her. it was a present for her ex-husband that was never used. what does this unreliable context mean for the object in my hands now? is the camera comparable to us? I have the ability to process visually what is around me but ultimately have limited storage space. space, space, SPACE again. to exist in a space, within a bigger space, that overlaps with other spaces, it is like constantly moving within a shimmering venn diagram, an invisible labrynth, with infinite combinations born anew even through a single step back. constantly in flux. it is an anxious space. perhaps objects provide an illusionary constant. and in technology, machinery, especially the strange 'revolutionaries' that are old but not quite that old. floated through the cycle of new, to replaced, to discarded, to the vintage, to the new again. I see this casio qv-10a as new. it is new to me and I am new to it. I do not know its history and it does not know mine. we are one and the same. at least in the intersection in our venn diagram. A ∩ B...