After receiving the heart-shaped brooch gift last week, I’ve continued to think about the whole question of value and worth. I pass the shop I mentioned in my last post every time I go to the studio – shutters permanently down since last week, the cruel irony of the shop’s demise reflected in its name above the former shop’s entrance: ‘All Our Yesterdays.’
Yesterday coincidentally was another significant day – a day when, in the grand scheme of things, the whole issue of value and worth was put very much into perspective. An estimated 20,000 people turned out to protest against government proposals to make cuts to Lewisham Hospital’s A&E and maternity departments in SE London – cuts based entirely on profit over people. You can’t put a price on the strength of a community of people gathering together for a common cause like they did yesterday. I was proud to be a part of it; thanks to the tireless campaigning of the Save Lewisham Hospital Campaign, it was a truly inspiring day.
Back to the studio, meanwhile … and as I move closer to starting the process of unpacking the boxes in my studio, I realise I’m soon going to be staring the whole issue of what things are worth right in the face, albeit in a very different context to the protests of yesterday. Some of the stuff hasn’t been properly sorted for a number of years and I’m going to have to make some firm decisions. What, amongst this huge collection of things is worth keeping – and what isn’t?
There never appears to be any real rhyme or reason to what’s considered to be something of ‘worth’ versus what isn’t. The criteria for decision making is hard to define – it’s based purely on a gut level instinct and comes from a deeply personal perspective. Just as the dolls I played with as a child were scrupulously examined for having the ‘right’ kind of face in order to be accepted into the fold and loved accordingly, so will each individual item be assessed to see if it passes the ‘test.’ I might end up throwing an awful lot of stuff away. Or, I may end up not able to bear parting with any of it – I just don’t know.
The practicalities of collecting need to be constantly monitored – with limited space, you simply can’t keep everything. I’ve had to come to terms with that fact rather reluctantly over the years and sporadic de-cluttering sprees have been essential in order not to – literally – crowd myself out of spaces.
Amongst the actual physical sorting, I’m aware that there will be some sadness to confront – deaths of dear, beloved members of the family, reminders of a broken heart (or two), sharp reminders of the rapid passing of time, the ageing process and so on. It probably goes some way to explaining the the current resistance to start the unpacking process.
So. What has the passing of time done? Has it changed things? Will the contents be ‘worth’ more to me, I wonder – now – after all these years? Will any emotional energy still be invested in the items, assuming they were originally kept on the basis that they were of some personal value at the time I put them into storage. Will I be affected still by the associative memories of them and will this be reflected in their overall value and worth? Or will I be disappointed at the unearthing of a pile of valueless rubbish? It remains to be seen….
