I have been buying and selling things since I was fifteen years old. This includes everything from $400 model sports cars that I found in an abandoned storage unit to $5 books from Goodwill, and everything in-between. It was my primary source of income throughout high school and into college. Through buying and selling hundreds of secondhand, used, and vintage objects, I have also in turn come across equally as many stories. Some of which I was aware; most of which I was not.
Objects carry stories differently than words or film do. Objects carry stories, not through what is said but how something is experienced. For example, the blurb under a bronze statue at the Metropolitan Museum of Art tells the historical context and physical makeup of that piece, while the shiny spots on that statue tell the story of the millions of people who have felt the desire to touch it, slowly eroding its surface. It is these stories that I am interested in: the untold, the daily interactions that seemed too mundane to record but left lasting impact on the way that specific object looks and is used.
These stories can be infinitely complex. The story of the bronze statue is not just of the statue but of every person who decided to touch it, as well as every person who did not. By existing in a space where it becomes a part of millions of people’s lives, its story becomes so involved that it would become impossible for any human to track it. However, some of them are not as complicated, as long as the documenter chooses an appropriate place to start the story. This means that the story of that statue does not start when the Big Bang occurs and creates the universe; instead, it begins when its artist begins to draft the idea of what this hunk of bronze is to become.
For my thesis project, I wanted to focus on something with a much smaller story than the statue. I wanted to tell a story of something that meant something to me, but also something that was meaningful to others, who might have shared similar stories with similar objects. I started thinking about the buying and selling and what personal belongings and subsequent stories I have sold to other people. This includes a Playstation 4, which I’ve since replaced, original Xbox games, and, most regrettably, Game Boy Advance consoles and games that I cherished between the ages of about eight and twelve. It was this regret, as well as the near unanimous sense of nostalgia amongst my peers about these objects, that convinced me that these were the stories that needed to be told. I wanted to investigate how my prized possessions turned into quick disposable money in around five years. Was my reverence for these objects truly this high or did the eight years without them spark some sort of false nostalgia?
I went on a mission to buy back both the Game Boy Advance console and Game Boy Advance SP console that I had, as well as all the games I could remember owning. This resulted in me purchasing two consoles, sixteen games, and a charger. I will refer to this group of items, both in this paper and in the project, itself, as The Childhood Set. The physicality of the objects brought back great memories and stories: the sound when you turned it on, the way the buttons pressed, the sound of the Game Boy Advance SP closing. However, I had no explanations for the chipped paint and the scratches. I could only imagine that it had been thrown around, slid across floors, or even dropped on a bed of nails. The games had a different effect on me. They filled in the visual blanks of my memory: the Harry Potter spell icons, the password screen in The Incredibles, and the hop and glide of Spyro. However, their physical forms did little for me. Instead, they seemed almost new on the outside and, therefore, served as a type of blank canvas for my stories. I did not need to write in false details to explain. I could simply apply my reality to them and no one would have any reason to question it. It was as if I had found an untouched bronze statue that I could rub exactly how I saw fit. These games would become the drivers for the story of my childhood.
