Ode to Objects
A community writing collaboration between things and those who love them
“… the souvenir artifact holds the possibility of immense power – a magical talisman that might propel us to reinscribe the mundane narratives of everyday life as unique and often unsettling stories of personal and political import. The souvenir marks the locus of selfhood brushing against desire.” – Lisa L. Love and Nathaniel Kohn in This, That, and the Other: Fraught Possibilities of the Souvenir
I have always been drawn to objects. When visiting my great grandmother as a small child – an immigrant who, no matter how long she’d been in the U.S., still surrounded herself with things rife with nostalgia for her home country – I’d spot a small thing of interest and pet it lovingly until she asked, “Do you like that?” I’d nod sweetly and say, “I love it so much.” She’d then ask me a series of questions to discern whether I appreciated it enough to take good care. If I answered correctly, she would send it home with me. I’d cherish the thing like a pet and when, eventually, it befell the misfortune of my clumsiness or pride (I sometimes lost items to bad bets – yes, I was lowkey gambling as a child), I’d grieve.
Read More
Even now, I find myself surrounded by objects of little import that I’ve imbued with a tragic amount of meaning. The objects featured in this workshop are great examples – the little stamp dispenser I found at an antique store while visiting an ex’s family; a compass I bought for art school 15 years ago; a collection of rotting avocado pits a lover saved for my avocado dye project which never came to pass.
I sometimes feel more connected to objects than people. And I have found that, when I write about them, I’m never just writing about them. I’m writing about meeting the ex’s family; going to art school; the dye project that never came to pass. I wanted to share this experience with others, so devised a collaborative workshop wherein I’d bring a collection of apparently mundane objects and ask others to write poems or love letters to them – to suspend their disbelief and imagine the objects might actually receive their words. The photos below are of the objects included in the workshop, and the reflections of the participants.
Ode to Objects Workshop
Documentation of Objects + Odes
Participant Text Contributions
1
I asked for a key,
a way to change my access.
I didn’t say what size
to be.
Now I have to halves
missing halves.
And a latch left unfree.
– O. Rae
2
Leather zipper,
Leather zipper,
You go up,
You go down.
What secrets do you guard?
What untold contents lie
beyond your veil?
What stories do your contents
hold?
Can I put my weed in u lol.
– anonymous
3
Dear stamp holder,
I know you wish to see the world, that you envy each stamp taken from you. Sometimes the purpose we are given seems vain in comparison to the purpose another item holds, but without you I wouldn’t have any stamps at all. Each beautiful letter would be left unsent. You are strong, durable, and most of all loved. Not for what you wish you were, but for what you truly are. I promise that one day you’ll travel with these stamps, but for now your purpose is with me.
With love,
A letter writer
4
Box of flowers with
a trim of gold,
What is the story that
you hold?
Did you once hold
jade?
No matter what your
purpose was or is
you are beautifully
made!
I am excited to see your story
unfold box with gold!
– Saorsa Seid
5
Ode to the Disco Ball
this object kind of represents you, when it’s your moment to shine the light hits just right. When I’m dancing on the dance floor, I see part of you in this silvery ball. It is the light of the party, everyone is happy. I believe without it, it just wouldn’t feel right, something is missing, and I want to tell you that I think I miss dancing, and I miss you.
– anonymous
6
Ode to a Compass
creates circles which are perfect
does that which no human can do
I am so proud of you
– anonymous
7
Ode to a Stamp Ejector
you give the sweet ability
to transfer love from miles away
why did we ever stop writing
letters!
– anonymous
8
A sweet photo of a family, a memory so large, made so little by time. Film that preserves what a brain cannot. I wonder if this piece of life has been missed, if a copy of it has been cherished or if upon its creation it was lost to the tide of uncorkable events and duties. Is this moment of hospitable mundanity turned over in someone’s mind? Or is it the only way it is touched again, through this little frame in my forefingers.
– anonymous
9
Dear Seashell Imprint,
I love the way that you suggest but you don’t tell. Your indulgent mystery intrigues me. Your memories are encapsulated in such a strange circle. I have seen you in many lives, but never like this. I think that I have come to understand you, but then I see what is underneath, much more detail, an imprint of a past life not so obvious. You are chipped and worn, signs of a life well-lived. You are not so much more than what has imprinted upon you.
– anonymous
10
Ode to a Mirror Ball
Oh mirror ball which shines and glitters the reflection of all that is around it. Do you ever grow tired of your glamorous facade? Do you ever wonder when someone will see your core of non-sustance? You are beautiful and you make every party which you appear to, but what are you to someone who splits you open? What conversation is to be made of your styrofoam guts?
– anonymous
11
Ode to a Silver Ring
Simple and sturdy. You make musical conversation with the objects that surround you: singing clear and true. You have so much potential, you are spilling over with talent. I imagine you at the dinner table, brightening the space and holding your fancy little napkin. I imagine you working in your daily life, holding so many flash cards, studiously, or so many keys which unlock the doors I have wondered about for years. I imagine you prettily adorned with a sparkling chain, regal and deserving, shining little ring. You do so much, you are so much, so simply.
– Ava Sky
12
You are underneath
my shoe
screaming in
aluminum agony
reduce reuse recycle
my heart
13
Hey Pencil,
I know you’re kinda an average yellow guy who is chill and doesn’t give a fuck. But I appreciate you. You have helped me write and draw so many things, some good some bad. I couldn’t have done it without you.
– anonymous
14
Ode to a Smudge Stick
Do you feel it when you burn? Is it a dull ache or a singe? Does it comfort you to know that in your burning, you offer safety? Does it make it sting any less? Does it make it worth it? Is it noble to be burned to nothing in the name of a peaceful mind? Does it matter?
– anonymous
15
the smoke smells of
creative clouds emerging
into a shape uncalling
but known amongst
those who seek it.
I light the sage for a
moment with energies
unseen but felt. A new
phase of lunar tides lets
the smoke of white turn
into a cloud of grey.
Count each burn as a wish
to speak to spirits of one
who once was me. Or a hug
to a spirit of ancestral
imagination.
– with gratitude, Makayla T.
16
cloud pale/red floats
above
cloud pale/green
on ice
like the puffs
of Cal’s fur
that accumulate
by my bed
Cloud merge
Memory
– anonymous
17
I give thanks to my headphones in ear or over ear. You provide the grounding I need, allowing me to find solitude and reconnect and connect. For that I give thanks.
– Malique Pye
18
If you can only have one purpose in life, shovelling isn’t a bad one to have. You’re useful, you can clear snow or dig gardens. You’re versatile, useful in any season for many reasons. You’re emotional. There when a 40-something year old little girl finally has to say goodbye to her mom. You’re beautiful. The rust of countless years carving tattoos onto your strong body. You’re fair, digging the same dirt no matter the land or who holds you. You’re constant, something rarely seen anymore. Your work is thankless, but for your efforts we are all thankful.
– Q
Interested in Ryan-Ashley facilitating an Ode to Objects workshop at your location? Please email to inquire.