Object, Space, Place, Home

One year of The Drawing Board.

We lay so much importance on physical objects we interact with. 

Maybe you have a favorite pen. It glides smoothly over your go-to notebook’s paper surface. You have a favorite mug, one that sits snugly in your palms as you enchant yourself with a warm, magical brew. You have a favorite photograph of a family member, propped up in a frame you picked that makes their skin glow and catches your attention, so you remember that they’re always with you.

We can’t imagine a life without these objects. They’re irreplaceable. 

These objects live within a space we curate for ourselves, whether it's a whole house, a garden apartment, or just a bedroom.

Maybe your pen lies on a desk where you like to sit and write. Your mug sits on your bedside table, within arms reach as you cozy up for a movie. Your family member, memorialized in that antique gold picture frame, sits by the door so you can greet them as you enter and leave your space.

This space we create is sacred. How we arrange the objects in our space and interact with them daily defines us.

This space is protected by architecture. The plaster walls of an old bedroom, an apartment in a ten story brick building, or a wood framed colonial house standing alone in a field, are all physical structures that protect our space. 

The architecture defines our place. The place we live in is our home.

Home is a physical place that contains spaces unique to the people living in it. It’s also an emotional place, a safe space, where you can be you. 

Whether we own or rent, our place is temporary. Our time is limited. Sometimes we outlive our places and space, but most times our objects outlive us. We’ll pass our objects down as heirlooms. 

Heirlooms have been a dominant force in my writing this year. 

My family sold the house I grew up in. The emotional bonds I tied to the objects in my childhood home were either strengthened (because I learned those skippy lids nailed under the basement ceiling had a purpose), broken (because I realized those dishes reminded my mom of a former toxic mother-in-law), or formed THEN rebroken (when I found out the massive drafting table did not belong to my grandpa, but to my mom’s friend). 

I spent the year curating my new home with heirlooms from my old home, like the “elephant plant” (a split leaf philodendron) that’s older than me, who’s leaves now look out my living room window. Above my desk is a painting by my dad’s mom, and behind me is a table made by my mom’s dad. 

Looking back on this past year, writing through ideas of object, space, place, and home was the only way I could tame the wild herd of emotions within me from the move.

As an artist, I not only want to inherit and pass down family heirlooms, but make them. I want to paint more disco balls, flowers in fields, and family portraits.

This past year I’ve also written about art as an object, its relationship with place, and its relationship with my own creative practice as I figure out how to become a master painter.

Towards the end of this year, I fused my art and writing with A Portrait of Bode. 

Bode was my beloved dog that I rescued 10 years ago. He was very large, extra clingy, and moaned while people around him were talking. It was important he made his presence known, and to contribute to the conversation. 

He passed away this summer. 

I painted a portrait of him, so I can always have a sacred object that represents him. But I paired it with a written piece to celebrate and memorialize his life. Eventually, I’ll get the painting extravagantly framed so it's more integrated with other objects in my space. 

He was family, and his portrait will be passed down like family. Until then, I’ll keep using his portrait to tell stories of him to my family and friends.

The Drawing Board is my internet home. In the beginning of the year, my goal was to write about art and architecture in a research-driven, almost academic way. But showing up to write and publish here regularly helped me process what was happening in my life, and anchored my creative practice more than I could’ve ever imagined. 

Thank you for continuing to read what I have to say, visit my internet home, and experience my art. I appreciate your time and feedback, whether it's in the form of an email reply, a comment on Substack, or even a text message.

In this new year my goals are to continue to fuse writing with painting, to discover meaning behind the objects and architecture around us. 

I’m curious to know if there’s anything you’re interested in learning about, around the ideas of objects, space, place, home, art, and architecture. Let me know. I’m always down to chat.

I hope you have a wonderful new year filled with creative joy. 

See you next time! <3 E