Object as Subject
In the product semantics class, one of the assignments I give to my students involves bringing an object that has been with them for the longest duration. These objects range from wearables, toys, jewelry, or even just a found object like a shell. The purpose of the exercise is to explore why they still possess it, whether they still use it, the experiences it has gone through in their lives, whether they have given it a name, the significance it holds for them, and how its meaning has transformed over time. These questions serve as the foundation for constructing a narrative centered around the object in which it becomes the subject. It is worth mentioning that this exercise has resulted in the emergence of captivating stories, immortalizing the products I refer to as “actors” and perpetuating their individual journeys.
We are surrounded by organic and inorganic objects. Products that are alive and yet which we consider lifeless. I had read somewhere that every object in our universe is in a constant state of flux. This flux could be visible to the naked human eye or could be captured under an electron microscope. Just like sound and light are audible and visible to humans but only within a very narrow spectrum, motion too is perceivable in a narrow spectrum. Why else do landslides happen or do materials degenerate left on their own? It is this constant state of motion, visible or invisible, that I believe is one of the forces that breathes life into ‘inanimate’ objects.
Now Imagine opening an old trunk, filled with forgotten treasures from a bygone era and you catch a glimpse of a worn-out photograph. It beckons you to unravel its secrets, to dive into a world frozen in time. And as you hold that photograph in your hands, you begin to wonder, is this simply a photograph or is it an entity with a life of its own.
We often attribute stories and emotions to photographs. They are portals to the past, that transport us to moments long gone. A single photograph can speak volumes, telling stories that words alone cannot express. But it is not just the image captured within the frame that holds power; it is the physicality of the photograph itself. Digital images which can today be viewed on multiple devices lack that materiality as one can barely attach any physical attributes to them.
In the age of analogue photography, each print was a unique embodiment of time. It aged, like fine wine, gaining value and flavor with each passing year. Faded colours, the brittleness of the paper, curled-up edges, the smell of chemicals, and probably a date scribbled on the back hinted at its journey in space and time. The photograph, in all its tangible glory, became more than a mere representation — it became a living entity, forever evolving.
But it’s not only photographs that possess this enigmatic quality. Objects, too, hold memories lying latent within them. We cling to heirlooms that have been passed down through generations, cherishing the stories they carry. A chair once occupied by a beloved grandparent, knitting needles that fashioned a cherished sweater, a wristwatch that connects us to the lineage of our fathers, or a lota that has come down the line of ancestors who may have had water out of it. These objects become vessels of memory, nostalgia, and sentimentality.
Yet, it is not just sentimental objects that captivate us. Simple and seemingly random items collected during our travels or stumbled upon by chance also weave their way into our consciousness. What is it about these objects that endows them with a life force, making it hard for us to part ways with them? Is it a value predetermined by design, or is it a culmination of time and experiences that breathe life into them?
Brands, understand the allure of longevity and nostalgia. They often craft products with the intention of becoming future heirlooms, projecting a sense of grandeur and timelessness. Names like Rolls-Royce, Rolex, Enfield, hmt, and Godrej, evoke images of quality, craftsmanship, and a timeless legacy that transcends generations. Just as aged wine gains value before it is purchased, these brands ride on their reputation, their story, and their ability to create objects that endure.
But beyond brands and heirlooms, there exists a mystique surrounding everyday objects. An old and well-worn jacket, an artifact casually resting on a table — do these objects possess a hidden depth that impacts our lives and shapes our identities? Perhaps it is the stories and experiences intertwined with these objects that transform them from the mundane to the extraordinary. The worn-out leather jacket becomes a reminder of youthful adventures, while an old train ticket sparks memories of the journey and chance encounters and discoveries.
Objects, in their physicality, carry the weight of time and the power of human connection. They become vessels for memories, both personal and collective. They link us to our past, grounding us in a world that is ever-changing. They embody the stories we tell ourselves, reminding us of who we are and where we come from. Just like a ventriloquist, we are able to make the otherwise inanimate objects communicate. The question that arises is what happens, in the time of excessive consumption when we not only change our wardrobes but most things we possess on a frequent and regular base. What memory vessels will we possess that will anchor us and the generations to follow?
In 2015, I made my first significant investment in my passion for cycling by purchasing an expensive bicycle. Over the years, I rode it for no less than 7000km until 2022. At that point, I made the decision to trade it in for a newer model. The bicycle was in excellent condition, and its value had increased due to the high demand caused by the COVID-19 pandemic, which had disrupted bicycle and part imports.
During one of my spontaneous visits to the bike shop, I was captivated by a newer 2022 model. I had a strong desire to own it, so I began searching for flaws and reasons to sell my 2015 bike. I quickly found interested buyers when I listed it on my online social media group, and I sold it for a price that I considered fair. With the money from the sale, I purchased the new bike. It has been almost 10 months now, and I’m extremely satisfied with it, however, there are moments when I question whether selling my old bike was the right decision.
The previous bicycle provided me with immense joy and created cherished memories. It could have easily lasted me another 7 to 10 years, if not a lifetime. So why did I choose to sell it? Honestly, I still don’t have a definitive answer. It seems that the allure of the better-designed 2022 model had a stronger hold on my attention. Lately, though, I have frequently reminisced about the older bike, and the deeper reasons behind my decision to sell it remains unanswered. I was a victim of a ‘consumer attack’.
This ongoing dilemma reminds me that objects can transform into subjects, hold significance, and influence our emotions over time. They have the ability to passively engage with us and evoke personal connections.