A while ago I came upon a photo of an art installation titled Deceased Estate 2004 - a collaborative exhibit by Sydney artists Sean Cordeiro and Claire Healy. It got me thinking about precisely how many "things" an individual can manage to accumulate over an entire lifetime. Between amassing items of absolute necessity and those collected purely for their aesthetic or sentimental value, the numbers must be staggering. But Cordeiro and Healy's work here has allowed us to take a step back for a moment, and see the fuller picture... all those treasured objects and favourite items that each of us covet, are really just mundane articles that perhaps may not be looked upon by the next person with the same adoring eye. And then what of it all when we are dead and gone? I imagine unless specific measures are taken, much of it will be picked over by relatives, and the rest sold off in estate sales.
Ive always felt sad when thinking of personal possessions lost to the corridoors of time. As a young boy I often felt the sting of tears behind my eyes when reading Arnold Lobel's book Owl at Home - in particular, a tale where Owl wanted to make "tear-water tea" by crying into a kettle. He thought of all the things that bought sadness to his heart - like pencils sharpened too short to ever be used again, or lost spoons that have fallen behind the stove and are never seen again. He soon manages to fill the kettle with tears and makes tea that is "a little bit salty", but "always very good".
It is still with this wistful sense of melancholy that I look upon personal treasures that are sold off after a death. It is all so finite. How easily ownership is transferred with the swipe of a card or the clatter of coins.
It is still with this wistful sense of melancholy that I look upon personal treasures that are sold off after a death. It is all so finite. How easily ownership is transferred with the swipe of a card or the clatter of coins.
Just this past weekend I found myself faced with such a situation. After trawling the wonderful fleamarkets of Copenhagen, I chanced upon a delightful vintage store hidden away in a charming side-street. Inside, it was fully stocked with anything and everything one might imagine - clothes, hats, shoes and luggage from the 19th century to the present day... costume jewellery, ornamental objects, vanity items and vintage perfumes. All of it endearing, all of it authentic, and all of it acquired through deceased estates. I sifted through hat-boxes stuffed with antique milliner's ribbon, rummaged in drawers brimming with monogrammed linens and peered through glass cabinets holding flacons of perfume both exotic and rare.
An hour or so later, I walked from the store with several perfumes nonetheless. I thought about what would be sadder: to take ownership of articles pre-loved and appreciated by some dearly departed; or to leave the fragrance to 'turn' in the shop window, and their boxes to fox and fade.
Just like their anonymous original owners, I felt it better they be remembered and appreciated, rather than forgotten.
Just like their anonymous original owners, I felt it better they be remembered and appreciated, rather than forgotten.