The Suitcase
Posted by Victoria | Filed under Victoria
For many years my parents have lugged one particular old, decrepit, apparently useless suitcase around with them on their many moves. The suitcase lost its handle when I was a baby, at some point during a 26-hour flight from Papua New Guinea, where they then lived, to England, where my dad is from. They discovered the broken handle on the escalator from King’s Cross tube station up to the surface, when my dad tried to lift it at the top of the flight. Apparently, everyone politely stood to the side while it bounced its way all the way down — and that escalator is one of the longest in the London Underground system.
But that was back before it became the ‘world’s largest clutch purse’ (as my mum calls it), when it was still being used for its original purpose. That doesn’t explain why my parents still have it some 28 years and fourteen cross-country (and cross-ocean) moves later.
It’s quite simple. It’s the print suitcase.
You see, my dad is a keen artist and collector, but, as I’m sure everyone here understands, couldn’t always afford to have all the works — original prints mostly — he bought framed when he got them. So they went into the suitcase for later. Later started to come a few years ago (coincidentally, when all us girls had finally moved out?); we’d come home on visits to discover some new-to-us work was hung on the walls. These were usually not new; they came from Papua New Guinea or northern Canada; but they hadn’t been out before.
I’ve been starting my own print suitcase. I don’t have an actual suitcase at the moment (perhaps I should ask my parents for theirs, if they’ve finally finished framing them all — we joke that my dad kept the local framer in business through the recession — though I’m not sure how many more moves that suitcase will handle), but I do have a small but growing collection of pieces I can’t quite afford to frame just yet. But one day. They’ll go in the One Day House.
I buy art work not just because my parents do, but because it’s a large part of what makes a place ‘home’ for me. When you grow up in fourteen different places, the markers of ‘home’ aren’t tied to the physical houses. Most of it has to do with family, of course, but the tangible evidence of home for me is in the art work, in the fact that we always have this one picture of copper beech leaves at the head of the dining room table, that we have carvings from Papua New Guinea and a few soapstone pieces from the Arctic.
When I moved out into a proper, non-student-ghetto apartment, I started to collect a few pieces of my own. I also asked my parents for a couple of the PNG works, just a couple, so that I could overlap my family home with the new home on my own. (Who says you can’t have just one home? It’s probably easier if you’re not thinking in terms of an actual house, which is obviously rather more singular in nature!) They are markers of where I’ve lived, what I’ve done, places that have marked me.
Home. Made up of a few choice pieces of art, a suitcase holding the promise of future homes — well, and my books, but that’s a topic for another day.
Working on finishing up a PhD in Medieval Studies, what Victoria really wants to do is walk around the world and write books. Twenty-nine and single, Victoria lives in Halifax and is trying to balance work and life.
April 27, 2012 at 9:58 am
What an interesting way to make a home. Maybe that’s why in my many moves as a child it started to not feel like home. We never had any continuity other than the people. I hated moving so much that as an adult I got married, we bought a house and we are still here 25 years later.
April 27, 2012 at 1:03 pm
I think it probably depends a lot on your temperament — none of us are particularly minimalist! (My mum is the most, perhaps.) Though I certainly have a great curiosity about what it’s like living in a place for years and years on end — the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere was going to graduate school in the same city for five years, and I was away for one of those!
April 27, 2012 at 2:45 pm
I love it that the art makes it home for you! I try and pick up a new piece when I travel – I have some great folk art pieces from New Zealand & Australia.
I figured my mom thought I was all grown up when she gave me the large watercolour that had hung in the livingroom for years for my own place… now if I can just convince my dad to part with the needlepoints…
April 27, 2012 at 11:36 pm
Cute post! Artwork is one of the things I like to purchase on trips. I love the differences in artwork, the textures, the use of colour and different materials. They’ve been sitting in a pile since we moved into our new house. And you’re right, when I finally hang them I think I’ll feel like my house is finally my home!
May 3, 2012 at 9:23 pm
My thesis adviser for my Masters and her husband were both established in their lives and careers when they married. They had two of most things and one does not really need two toasters generally. They discussed the issue of gifts for each other even before they married and came to a rather good solution. First, they reserved the right to buy things they saw or thought the other would love but would not get for themselves. Second, for the events of their lives which might be otherwise marked with a gift like Christmas and anniversaries or birthdays, they put money into a fund to buy art. They were both working at UVIC at the time and loved West Coast Native Art in addition to much other art. They would take time to go periodically to spend their art money together. Over time, they collected some wonderful items. Walking through their home was a joy. As you stopped to enjoy a piece, it always sparked a story from their lives – the art became a set of touchstones to important times for them. They did point out though that the downside to their years of collecting was significantly higher home insurance rates and the need for a reasonably good home security system. Small prices to pay for living with beauty and fond memories.