Reassuring Touch
In spending more time at home, the objects we own take on new — and reassuring — meanings.
These have been weird, strange and anxious times. Our worlds have suddenly shrunk dramatically as we were asked to social distance and stay at home. As a writer and editor, I’m one of the lucky ones who can continue to work from home.
I spend my days between my desk/workspace and wherever my two children need me to be. My hours are flexible, and I work in chunks of time bookended between home-schooling, parenting and domestic duties. For the last little while, I’ve been working on finalising the upcoming issue of Studio, and marvelling at how much things have changed in the direction of the unknown since articles were commissioned and edited.
““I pay more attention to the process””
Mountain Cup by Queenie Xu
There’s an emerging flow to my days, which are structured mainly around my children’s needs for food, exercise and attention. The urbanist writer Henri Lefebvre wrote about the repetitions and patterns that occurred in city life: he proposes rhythmanalysis as a method of understanding these patterns and the ways in which they shape the life of city-dwellers. I am acutely aware of which of my rhythms have been disrupted by the pandemic and while I contemplate their absence, I become aware of the new rhythms that have started to fill in the gap.
Some of these new habits are upgrades.
My morning coffee is slower, more ritualistic. It has become something that is less about jumpstarting my day with a shot of caffeine and more of a pleasurable gradual transition. In place of picking up a 12-ounce Americano with cream from my local coffeeshop between dropping off the kids and heading to work, I now have a morning ritual. With the money I’ve saved from my coffee habit, I indulge in a smoother bean and make my coffee on the stove. I pay more attention to the process because I have to, lest the moka pot boil over. Coffee made this way invites savouring.
It also invites an experience—I now drink my coffee from a grey marbled handmade mug with a knob in place of a handle. I had received the mug as a gift but rarely used it, worried about breaking it while rushing about in my hectic life. Now, I get to enjoy both the coffee and the solid weight of the mug every morning in a new and welcomed ritual. And it’s a grounding observance that has revealed one of the many ways in which I engage with the objects in my home.
The slower pace and limited options for movements also mean that I now have the time to take on home projects. While I haven’t Konmari-ed my life yet, because what parent has the time for these large undertakings, I have had the time to review the objects I own. Over and over again, I find myself drawn to the handmade objects and art I have collected over the years. I find reassurance there in unexpected ways, whether from the novelty of using them more frequently, the memories of acquiring them as gifts or on my travels, or in studying them to discover something new in their composition.
““I’m now glad to rediscover the ways in which certain handmade items introduce joy at a time when anxiety seems to be the prevailing emotion.””
I’ve written before about human-object relationships, how objects become repositories for memories and emotions, how handmade objects reflect specific geographies and temporalities and how we assign meaning beyond function in ways that reveal how we position ourselves in the world. But this is the first time I have had in a very long while where I am able to investigate the objects in my home in such a manner. As any parent can tell you, with the birth of a child comes the acquisition of countless objects for innumerable purposes and without regular purging, the piles of objects transform into overwhelming avalanches. Through regular and ruthless purging, I cultivated a disassociation from object ownership, but I’m now glad to rediscover the ways in which certain handmade items introduce joy at a time when anxiety seems to be the prevailing emotion.
The handmade mugs and stone dishware that have to be handwashed with care after a special meal. The woven blanket my children and I snuggle under while we watch a movie. A black ceramic bowl I coveted for months after seeing it on Instagram. Handblown glass tumblers for juice with lunch. The uneven weavings I produce and unravel on the loom I bought for my daughter in a blatant projection of my own desires. All of these objects provide touchpoints that relieve the anxiety, just a little bit, and make home a safer place.
Communiqués is a new and ongoing series providing first-person perspectives on how the craft and design community is thinking about, responding and adapting to the current coronavirus pandemic and the ways in which it is reshaping our lives, activities and relationships. To discuss this piece, head over to our Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook pages. If you’re interested in contributing, please drop us a line at pitches@studiomagazine.ca with the subject line “Communiqués.” For more content from Studio Magazine, subscribe to our newsletter.
