As Promised...Essay #1 (About Collections)

Strange Revelations in my Closet

Reading “Unpacking My Library” forced me to reconsider my possessions and the order in which I keep my possessions. Benjamin says that “Every passion borders on the chaotic, but the collector’s passion borders on the chaos of memories” (60). Each article of clothing in my closet, folded in my dresser, and in one case, hanging on my wall, strings together my life so far like clothes hanging to dry on a line. Everyone has a collection of some type, and as much as some would hate to admit it, clothes are the most memory steeped of all the objects one could own.

“The period, the region, the craftsmanship, the former ownership—for a true collector the whole background of an item adds up to a magic encyclopedia whose quintessence is the fate of his object” (60). I used to work for a woman who bought and sold antique clothing to fashion designers, Hollywood productions, and famous musicians. I have a blouse from 1890 with embroidery done in those awful Victorian sewing factories where little girls got their hair caught in machines and died prematurely from inhalation of textile dust. I find myself out and hunting for a new article every time there is a big change in my life, or a moment worth noting. The bright turquoise mini skirt—one of my most colorful acquisitions—marks a moment of lucidness that I had rarely experienced before then.

By giving our memories shape, texture, and physical space we are able to create order out of memory—and thus, order for our emotions. What I think that Benjamin was getting at, was that books, or clothes, or whatever one happens to collect is a way for us to possess our memories. Photo albums and scrap books also serve to this end—people need physical manifestations of memories. I still own my prom dress—it is in my closet at my mother’s home in Southern Vermont. The dress is black and red striped and backless. I will probably never wear it again, but it marks the memory of graduation from high school as well as my unexpected recognition as Prom Queen. We all have these strange relics saved and stored in safe places. There might be a box of photographs under a bed, or a collage of magazine cut-outs hanging in a dark, less traveled hallway. Some people track their lives with music, some with their own writing. Each of these cases are examples of people claiming their memories—giving birth to their emotions as tactile objects. For what else are memories but strings of emotions lighting up spaces in time for us to replay?

Walter Benjamin ends his essay with “..ownership is the most intimate relationship that one can have to objects. Not that they come alive in him; it is he who lives in them” (67). We collect our memories, little pieces of ourselves in the form of objects. My closet is a disorganized timeline of my life since the eighth grade, proof that I have experienced change, loss, happiness and sex. In this way I am able to live in memories, and also grow within them. When I grow out of a piece—either physically or mentally, I put it aside until it can be of use to me again. Right now I wear the same brown woven scarf almost every day—it is a mark of growing up and accepting the idea of adult responsibilities. It is more than possible that I will need to pack this item away at some point when it no longer suits my mood or style.