Cupboards
I felt a compulsion to confront something I had been avoiding for two years. Two cupboards in my house, one under the stairs and one by the back door to the garden.
No exaggeration, both cupboards were intimidatingly full. Full, like when you watch a documentary on hoarding... full of random incongruous crap left behind by previous tenants; clothing, mail, DIY and building materials, suitcases, even a hockey stick, pair of medical crutches and a ridiculous electronic 'massage belt' (and the list could go on...).
Previously, in moments of energetic proactivity, I had made multiple attempts to clear these two spaces, but had always given up half way through. There was always something that stopped my progress, like it had gotten too late, I'd already filled up the outside bin etc. I felt a bit of a failure. The knowledge that things were getting out of control turned into a feeling of shame that I kept repressing. The more cramped the cupboard, the more shame I felt, and the more difficult it became to confront. I also felt a kind of strange dilemma, none of these objects were even mine, yet they were now. It was a burden that I had, in a way, not caused but inherited by accident.
With a deep breath I started small, pulling out objects, one by one, making decisions as I went. Could the 'thing' be useful? Was it worth keeping this object around to make use of it? Do I like this object? I made organised piles, and eventually through this organisation, I started enjoying the process. Things had clearly been laying dormant in there for years, and it almost felt like I was uncovering a stranger's time capsule, hidden within my house, under my nose, all this time. A little bit of the house's history was buried in these cupboards, traces of the people that were once here, and it was fun to make assumptions about who these people were. When I needed a break, I'd make myself a coffee and test out the massage belt (LOL).
One thing that peaked my interest was an enormous pile of clothes that had been left by Claudia, an old housemate of mine who moved out last year. I remembered her saying she would return at some point to transport them to the charity shop, however time went by and these garments been forgotten. She is a dancer, and so the clothes were mostly made of stretchy cotton jersey material (t-shirts, leggings, hoodies). Some of them I thought I could wear, although most were not quite right and so with the rest I thought there could be someway I could repurpose and make better use of the material. The lockdown has given me lots of time to make and think about things, and so I was excited by the prospect of having this material to work with.
I spent the evening stripping the garments into yarn, and made plans to weave the pieces back together. Unpicking the garment, taking it back to a 'material' state. Deconstructing to then reconstruct.
To give some context, I moved to this house two years ago, when I began my masters degree. It was the cheapest (and smallest) bedroom I could find, enough space for a single bed and small wardrobe. The possessions I bought with me were minimal and basic, as my intention when I arrived here was not to get too comfortable and not to stay too long in the same place. This was not intended to be a permanent home, it would be a basecamp where I could study and work out my next steps in life and eventually move onwards. I certainly would not invest time, money and effort in any DIY/home improvement/nesting activities!
I was recovering from a very traumatic break-up. I had lived with my boyfriend for nine years, and my home was with him in our one bedroom flat. We built our world together, and our flat/home felt like a comfortable and safe space only for us, the way we wanted it. We spent a long time transforming it in ways I felt I could never do alone; such as fitted a new kitchen, pulled up the carpets to find lovely floorboards etc. When he left, it was like everything fell apart (I had what I think is a mental breakdown, but I won't go into that now...) and I felt I needed to simplify everything in my life to cope. He took most of the things we owned with him, and I tried to change my perspective to not seeking my happiness in having nice clothes and a lovely flat/stable life... my mindset sort of shifted and I became better at adapting to change, uncertainty and I eventually found a comfort in not feeling stuck in one place. It helped me heal, and I wanted to reassess what sort of person I wanted to be. A few months later, I enrolled at Goldsmiths for my masters, and I don't say this lightly, the people I met and the things I learnt changed my life.
When I graduated in January 2020, I decided I wanted to stay a little longer in London and in this house. There were lots of reasons, I had made great friends and colleagues, had a bit of regular work, but mostly I felt I was on the right path to finding a new sense of direction. I feel the lockdown has, in a way, enforced a new type of stability in my life, and having this time at home has made me appreciate more the life I am building for myself.
Perhaps the cupboards are quite an obtuse metaphor, but this act of clearing out some of the house's baggage made me reflect on my own. I'm making some space for myself here.
No exaggeration, both cupboards were intimidatingly full. Full, like when you watch a documentary on hoarding... full of random incongruous crap left behind by previous tenants; clothing, mail, DIY and building materials, suitcases, even a hockey stick, pair of medical crutches and a ridiculous electronic 'massage belt' (and the list could go on...).
Previously, in moments of energetic proactivity, I had made multiple attempts to clear these two spaces, but had always given up half way through. There was always something that stopped my progress, like it had gotten too late, I'd already filled up the outside bin etc. I felt a bit of a failure. The knowledge that things were getting out of control turned into a feeling of shame that I kept repressing. The more cramped the cupboard, the more shame I felt, and the more difficult it became to confront. I also felt a kind of strange dilemma, none of these objects were even mine, yet they were now. It was a burden that I had, in a way, not caused but inherited by accident.
With a deep breath I started small, pulling out objects, one by one, making decisions as I went. Could the 'thing' be useful? Was it worth keeping this object around to make use of it? Do I like this object? I made organised piles, and eventually through this organisation, I started enjoying the process. Things had clearly been laying dormant in there for years, and it almost felt like I was uncovering a stranger's time capsule, hidden within my house, under my nose, all this time. A little bit of the house's history was buried in these cupboards, traces of the people that were once here, and it was fun to make assumptions about who these people were. When I needed a break, I'd make myself a coffee and test out the massage belt (LOL).
One thing that peaked my interest was an enormous pile of clothes that had been left by Claudia, an old housemate of mine who moved out last year. I remembered her saying she would return at some point to transport them to the charity shop, however time went by and these garments been forgotten. She is a dancer, and so the clothes were mostly made of stretchy cotton jersey material (t-shirts, leggings, hoodies). Some of them I thought I could wear, although most were not quite right and so with the rest I thought there could be someway I could repurpose and make better use of the material. The lockdown has given me lots of time to make and think about things, and so I was excited by the prospect of having this material to work with.
I spent the evening stripping the garments into yarn, and made plans to weave the pieces back together. Unpicking the garment, taking it back to a 'material' state. Deconstructing to then reconstruct.
To give some context, I moved to this house two years ago, when I began my masters degree. It was the cheapest (and smallest) bedroom I could find, enough space for a single bed and small wardrobe. The possessions I bought with me were minimal and basic, as my intention when I arrived here was not to get too comfortable and not to stay too long in the same place. This was not intended to be a permanent home, it would be a basecamp where I could study and work out my next steps in life and eventually move onwards. I certainly would not invest time, money and effort in any DIY/home improvement/nesting activities!
I was recovering from a very traumatic break-up. I had lived with my boyfriend for nine years, and my home was with him in our one bedroom flat. We built our world together, and our flat/home felt like a comfortable and safe space only for us, the way we wanted it. We spent a long time transforming it in ways I felt I could never do alone; such as fitted a new kitchen, pulled up the carpets to find lovely floorboards etc. When he left, it was like everything fell apart (I had what I think is a mental breakdown, but I won't go into that now...) and I felt I needed to simplify everything in my life to cope. He took most of the things we owned with him, and I tried to change my perspective to not seeking my happiness in having nice clothes and a lovely flat/stable life... my mindset sort of shifted and I became better at adapting to change, uncertainty and I eventually found a comfort in not feeling stuck in one place. It helped me heal, and I wanted to reassess what sort of person I wanted to be. A few months later, I enrolled at Goldsmiths for my masters, and I don't say this lightly, the people I met and the things I learnt changed my life.
When I graduated in January 2020, I decided I wanted to stay a little longer in London and in this house. There were lots of reasons, I had made great friends and colleagues, had a bit of regular work, but mostly I felt I was on the right path to finding a new sense of direction. I feel the lockdown has, in a way, enforced a new type of stability in my life, and having this time at home has made me appreciate more the life I am building for myself.
Perhaps the cupboards are quite an obtuse metaphor, but this act of clearing out some of the house's baggage made me reflect on my own. I'm making some space for myself here.
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