My father turned out to be the more sentimental of the two. He saved boxes of photos, newspaper clippings that dated back to the first heart transplant and the release of Nelson Mandela. Journals, receipts and travel paraphernalia from journeys dating back to his time as a medical student in the 50s and their early married life abroad. His handwritten notes left on the backs of brochures and art catalogues filled a house not only with paper, but soul, and became impossible to discard.
My mother made all her own clothes. Then altered, updated and remade them to suit new occasions and events in their lives. As time passed, she patched and darned them, her life story stitched into every sleeve or knee crease. And when they became too threadbare to wear, she held onto their precious buttons or the creased Vogue pattern pieces that she adapted again and again.
On examining the archive of my own possessions, I realized that my behaviour was not all that different from theirs. I had a similar love of books, photos and papers as my father and that of textiles, clothes, shoes and bags like my mother. The way I stored and saved things was not that different either; be they designer and vintage clothes or less valuable items kept for their faded beauty, the memories they evoked and or simply humour. Each of them was lovingly wrapped in old tissue or plastic as if their impermanence and imperfections could be preserved and saved along with their soul.
I approached Magda [Kmiecik] to photograph some of these random things, some of which I have been collecting for years. We both have a fascination with packaging and its photogenic appeal.
When I unwrapped each item we chose to photograph them as such – some of them in the original way I have preserved them and others in packaging I had preserved for its own charm and beauty. It was the relationship of the item – no matter how old or worn – to its paper or box that piqued our subsequent interest.”