The Object Stories of Loss Project: dementia, identity, purpose, place
The work in this project centres around my mother, her past and her present; the fact that she no longer knows who I am or where she is; trying to make sense of how I and the world responds to her and how she responds to the world. In my work I look at the stories attached to valued items that belong to her and how these stories continue to morph or cease when the storyteller loses their memory; when the storyteller themselves has forgotten the narrative. The version of the story that lives on in others, the snippets of the story that she chose to share and the whole story that will never be known.
Mum has Alzheimer's and these are her stories.
This is mum's tureen. We have lost her to Alzeimers and she can no longer communicate, living in a world we can no longer reach - there is a space between us that neither of us can cross. Even so this piece of ceramic comes from a happy place and I now have the joy of being its custodian and it has gained a new function in our household as it (secretly) is the keeper of the advent chocolate.
I am drawn to items that belong to her, I feel closer to her when using and living with the things she loved.
..................
Mum and dad were happy honeymooners in the summer of 1965. They went to Jersey and brought back two small ceramic Jersey cow milk jugs. These little jugs have been one of the constants of my life, they have always been there, they were always important. We were never allowed near them when we were kids, they spent their life out of reach, behind glass, in a cabinet. They were revered and protected to such an extent that even now I feel anxious when I pick them up. They are no longer locked away but sit on my bookcase looking at each other open mouthed as if having a right old heated exchange of words, perhaps reminding me of the heated exchange of words my parents had from time to time. My daughter is allowed to pick them up - I don’t know what mum would think about this.
.................
These two little pots conjure up memories of childhood holidays in Brixham, Devon. Mum must have bought them in the late 70s from a local pottery, now long gone. They were always on display given pride of place on her sunny kitchen window sill, and now they spend their days on mine.
Sometimes I take little objects like this to show her and place them in her hands.
She doesn’t look at them.
I hold them for her.
......................
Mum was pregnant with my brother in 1974, the last of her children. This is the cardigan she knitted during a long hot summer preparing for a cold winter - she was planning ahead, looking forward.
She was so skilful - her fingers would fly when she knitted. She could carry on conversations and watch TV without looking at her craft or dropping a stitch. I can still hear the click-clack of her needles and see her Woman's Weekly patterns. She made beautiful things.
She gave me the cardigan many years ago. I upset her when I shrank it by washing it too hot. It still fits and I still wear it. It is in its late 40's now and it's wearing much better than me - or her.
I look at her hands now - they no longer move.
I wish I had asked her to teach me how to knit.
Blue and White Tureen. Reduction Linocut. 20 x 15cm. Rachel Smith, 2022.
1965. Reduction Linocut. 20 x 15cm. Rachel Smith, 2022.
The Jug and the Jam Jar. Reduction Linocut. 20 x 15cm. Rachel Smith, 2022.
1974. Linocut. 20 x 20cm. Rachel Smith, 2023.
More objects with stories to tell ...
Blue and White Jug. Reduction Linocut. 20 x 15cm.
Rachel Smith, 2022.
Bon bon. Reduction Linocut. 20 x 30cm. Rachel Smith, 2022.
