Movement Part 2 - Many Small Boxes

Many years ago I spent time living
with a printmaker and bookbinder, and
it was just after my parents had moved and
my experience with so many cardboard
boxes. This book is the first piece
of artwork I created from this theme.

When I was 21, my parents moved from the city where I grew up in Oregon, to Spokane, Washington. It did not bother me too much, especially because I was already living on my own (or at least as much as a 21 year old does). I remember being excited and anxious for them, but both of those feelings were also mixed with a knowing that this is what they just needed to do. They needed to move on. There was one thing that really struck me though, amidst all the planning and packing of moving a life lived in one city for almost 30 years. It was all the boxes. So many boxes. I became obsessed with boxes and what they held – all of a family’s belongings packed up in tidy boxes, labeled, and taped shut. It felt so simple, and so easy, and also made our “things” so much less than the value we placed on them. I was surprised at the potential of placing something into a cardboard box and suddenly how it ceased to matter for me.

I probably shouldn't have been surprised, because this is in large part how I like to live my life. I am a compartmentalist, and I like to have boundaries. Clear boundaries. Tidy boxes. When I live outside of those boundaries I feel vulnerable, I cry a lot, I fear I hurt the feelings of those close to me. So I tend to keep things in boxes. Many small boxes, labeled, and taped shut. But then too much time goes by and I can't keep all these boxes shut and contained, and then they open, all of them at once and then, well, (see above sentences) I start experiencing the world through my “feelers” my emotive and inconsistent selves. This is the irony – that emotion is movement. That the whole point of emotion is to MOVE, to have motion. And I often insist on keeping these things inside my many small boxes. Labeled. Taped shut.

I have gotten better about this over the years. And I know I will continue to. And maybe someday when I’m old and gray, I will write a blog post titled, “Movement, Part 17 – In Memoriam, My Many Small Boxes.” For now, I’ll try to peak inside my boxes every once in a while so they don't pop open all at once, and it doesn't turn into a frenzy of cardboard, sharpie pens, and shipping tape, aka, my messy emotions.