Mirror Map
Created in May 2022 for Loops of Obsolescence II, a graduate course on research-creation
August 3rd, 2020 — 3:10pm
On the wall —
1. Fresh white paint, second coat.
On the floor —
2. A beige cloth tarp sprinkled with paint.
3. A black plastic paint tray covered with white paint.
4. A tall metal standing ladder.
On the ladder —
5. My friend Laura, holding a small cup (filled with paint) and a small brush (for painting).
Introduction —
In August 2020, I moved into my apartment in Montreal. This was a big deal because it was my first time living alone—no roommates, no family, just me. On my way to get the keys for my new place, I picked up a mirror I found on Facebook Marketplace. I envisioned it on the wall in the living room, hanging above a table covered in books and plants and other cherished stuff. When I stepped into the empty apartment, my apartment, for the first time, I envisioned growing into the space, how I’d make it my own. Since then, this apartment has come to be a sanctuary of sorts for me, and the area around the mirror has turned into one of my favourite spots in my home.
What follows is a map of this spot over the last three-ish years, consisting of three photos—one per year—and a comprehensive list of everything around the mirror in each snapshot. What can I uncover, reveal, layer, and map out through this format? What gets left out? What story does it tell? And why are my verb tenses so all over the place?
I don’t answer any of these questions outright, really. But this project isn’t exactly a finite thing making definitive claims. And isn’t that open-endedness what maps allow for anyway?
September 30th, 2020 — 11:25am
On the wall —
1. A vintage circular mirror affixed to a beige lacquer-covered, solid wood backing with a small shelf. The mirror has de-silvered over time, causing small dark-grey splotches that make it look like an antique, or like the moon.
On the mirror/shelf —
2. A small black and white photograph taped to the mirror backing. A white border frames a pair of young people smiling and holding each other in front of a lake; the movement of their hair suggests it was windy; the photo, paper, and clothing styles suggest it was taken sometime around the early/mid-20th century. (I think?) I found it at Monastiraki in Montreal around 2017.
3. A shiny, black ceramic figure sitting/leaning on the shelf. It’s shaped like a human if a human were made of water or melted metal or something fluid.
4. A yellow-tinted black and white postcard that I found at the Mauerpark flea market in Berlin in August 2018. It’s sitting on the shelf and leaning on the backing. It’s depicting a luxe lady sitting at an ostentatiously-decorated table, reading, draped in fur, with a single tit out; I don’t know her but I love her.
5. A photo of my mom holding a baby-me with her mom/my grandma leaning over her shoulder (1996). I’ve had this photo for as long as I can remember. Originally, it was in a pink frame in my childhood bedroom. Over time, the frame slowly broke down, and a few years ago I tried transferring the image to another frame, but it had stuck to the glazing, and peeling it off meant ripping the photograph. So I left the glass.
6. An empty antique shot glass with gold-coloured rim that I found in 2017 at a flea market in Toronto. It’s part of a set of four glasses; the other three are currently with other vintage glassware in my bar area. A guy I was seeing once remarked that his grandma has the same ones (a compliment).
7. A small silver clam-shell-shaped container (found at the Mauerpark flea market, 2018).
8. A pothos cutting with roots growing in water, contained in a thrifted vase. Its leaves frame two small photographs:
9. A family photograph of my aunt and baby-me on the beach in Florida around 1996;
10. A black and white photograph that I found at a flea market in Berlin, which depicts a cluster of water lilies printed on Agfa-Lupex paper, likely dating back to WWII.
On the floor —
11. A long, narrow, green-tinted glass console table with brass brackets, given to me by my mom who got it from her mom (likely from the 1970s or 80s).
On the table —
12. A variegated pothos cutting contained in a glass vase with a heart-shaped opening. Its roots are starting to form in the water. They’re not very visible in the photo, but I know they’re there.
13. A royal blue candle in a clear bottle with solidified wax drippings fixed along the side.
14. An ancient-Greek-style bust statuette of an armless and mostly torso-less bearded hunk, naked, broad chest exposed, looking pensively, manly-ly off into the distance. He was a decorative display piece in the boutique I worked at in Toronto, and when they closed the store, they let me take him home.
15. A stack of print publications: Houseplants Covered With Snow (a zine by Ruth Van Beek) covered by Strange Plants II (an anthology) covered by ALMANAC (an anthology).
16. A neighbouring stack: The tenth issue of Perdiz magazine (“a collectable magazine-object about people and the things that make them happy”) with a cover depicting a person who looks like they had just been crying, but you can’t see that because their face is covered by: Nées Nues zine (“sept beautées féminines chantées par Mathieu Dionne + Jeanne Joly”), and a big shell (found at a flea market in Berlin in November 2019).
17. A vintage candlestick with an ochre-coloured candle. Currently unlit, ample wax drippings.
April 9, 2021 — 6:39am
On the wall —
1. A yellowing postcard printed on three layers of paper that are starting to peel apart. The black and white photograph (depicting a street in Berlin) sits atop a long empty space on the page. I found it at the Mauerpark flea in 2018.
2. A yellowing postcard with a black and white image that depicts “THE EDGE OF A COMMON” by John Crome. There’s extra space below the image. I found it in a flea market in Los Angeles in 2017.
3. A stereograph with a mint green border framing two (identical? near-identical?) images depicting a grand gallery. Its caption reads “140 Grand gallery, Colona Pacade, Rome, Italy.” The other side is printed upside-down, with two images and the caption “139 Rome from the Dome of St. Peter’s.” Stereographs are meant to be viewed through a stereoscope, which creates the illusion of a 3D image, but I don’t have one of those so it’s hanging on the wall.
4. The mirror-shelf. I found it on Facebook Marketplace for $40 in August, 2020. The seller was a woman around my age and she found the mirror on the sidewalk and she loved it but didn’t have room for it so she sold it (to me). We carefully carried it down the staircase spiralling from the third floor to the sidewalk.
5. A pair of yellow-tinted vintage photographs on glossy paper, which I found at Monastiraki around 2016.
6. A small black and white vintage photograph. It’s printed on matte paper with “THREE SISTERS, BANFF” handwritten in the lower left hand side and “.47” handwritten in the lower right hand side. 7. The vintage postcard with my exposed-breast friend reading in her salon.
8. The water lilies found photo overexposed in the bright morning light.
On the mirror/shelf —
9. The found photo of the happy pair by the lake on the windy day.
10. The back of an untitled zine, depicting Drei Akte im Wald (1934/35) by Ernst Ludwig Kirchner layered on top of a scan of a beige paper cutout collage. It’s behind a zine by Somos Petros that’s called Nine Sea Creatures You Weren’t Aware of and Can’t Tell Me Don’t Exist Because No One Has Been to the True Bottom of the Ocean, which is behind a sticker I have yet to stick on something. The three of them are tucked behind the shiny black ceramic figure.
11. A brass analogue clock, found in the Mauerpark flea in August 2018.
12. A silver clam shell container, which my mom gave me. She used it to store jewelry, and it sat on a tray atop her bathroom sink in my childhood home. When I was a kid, I’d go into my parents’ bathroom to admire the shell.
13. The silver clam shell container from a flea market, slightly smaller than my mom’s silver shell container. Pretty much every winter I go to Florida with my family, and when I was a kid I would trail the beach for hours in search of cool shells.
14. A light grey pin by Eunice Luk / Slow Editions in the shape of a jagged squiggle.
15. The photo of baby-me, my mom, and my grandma.
16. The gold-rimmed shot glass holding a fortune cookie fortune that reads:
☺ Anything you do will fascinate the person you’re thinking ☺
17. A dark, muted blue geometric-shaped candle, a bit melted.
18. A black enamel and silver metal pin by Eunice Luk / Slow Editions in the shape of a flower outline.
19. The glass vase with the green pothos cutting, whose plentiful leaves partially obstruct:
20. The photo of my aunt and baby-me.
On the floor —
21. A garbage bin that needs emptying.
22. My grandmother’s glass table. Before it lived here, in my Montreal apartment, the table lived in my Toronto apartment living room between my roommate’s grey couch and the bay window. Before that, when it belonged to my parents, the table lived in the living room, between the brown couch and bay window. And before that, when it belonged to my grandparents, the table lived in their bedroom under the window with all the picture frames on it.
On the table —
23. An ear wax dissolver box.
24. A small hand sanitizer bottle.
25. A Toronto Ink Company piece with an orange ink splotch and writing that reads “KEEP SINGING.”
26. A thrifted glass candleholder with an almost-melted-away coral candle.
27. The clear bottle with a fresh white candlestick and some royal blue solidified wax drippings.
28. A tangled pair of earphones.
29. The hunk statuette, hiding, covered by two scrunchies sewn by my friend Ainslie, don’t look at him, he’s shy.
30. The stack: Houseplants Covered With Snow, ALMANAC, a pink shell container made from a real shell clasped together with metal hardware, a measuring tape ribbon thing, and my glasses.
31. A 4x4 glass clip frame from Deserres, waiting to frame something.
32. Kleenex, used???
33. The neighbouring stack: Perdiz magazine, Nées Nues, the big shell, four pairs of acrylic earrings (some in the shell, some strewn atop the books).
34. Two found photographs and one sheet of light pink paper, haphazardly stacked, possibly falling off the table, possibly trying to escape.
35. A chartreuse candle in a small glass ashtray.
36. A bottle that once held cider and now holds a pothos cutting with stringy roots floating and growing in water; the green vine is cascading over:
37. A funky-shaped light pink candle.
38. A small square glass vase with a small variegated pothos cutting with small roots.
39. A plastic-wrapped tampon.
May 29, 2022 — 11:26am
On the wall —
1. Nine found photographs, stereographs, and postcards. Some are curling away from the wall. The latest addition is a postcard of “THE INTERIOR OF OLD BASILICA” found at the Aberfoyle Antique Market in Ontario, 2021.
2. The mirror-shelf. When the sun rises, its light streams in and reflects off the mirror, creating refractions that float around the room and wake me up.
On the mirror/shelf —
3. The happy lakegoers photograph.
4. The back of the untitled zine. The inside features traced drawings of scrap paper arranged artfully/haphazardly.
5. The ceramic figure.
6. Four enamel pins.
7. One silver ribbon-shaped brooch that my bubby gave me.
8. A beeswax candlestick in a ceramic container.
9. The vintage brass clock that doesn’t really work but looks CUTE.
10. A beautiful and worn and torn Niagara Falls postcard that I found at the Aberfoyle Market in 2021. On the back, it has two one-cent stamps, and is addressed to “Miss Mary Denning / Strathroy / Ont.” (How did it manage to get to her! How did it manage to get to me!!!!!) Wedged under a lengthy description of the landmark’s history, the sender’s message reads: “Hello Mary Why on earth don’t you ever write. I’m getting so lonesome to hear from everybody. I guess I will go down there with a stick and do something terrible. How are you and aunt Jane feeling lately. bye bye. Now write your lonely cousin Maud xxxxxxxxxxxxo.”
11. Dinky and beautiful FM radio transmitter, modelled after Tetsuo Kogawa’s Most Simplest FM Radio Transmitter, built by me and Amelle in THIS VERY CLASS, LOOPS OF OBSOLESCENCE II!!!!
12. My mom’s silver shell container turned towards the flea market silver shell container. 13. The photo of baby-me, my mom, and my grandma.
14. A black hair elastic.
15. A mini dried hydrangea flower.
16. The lone gold-rimmed shot glass, now containing three fortune cookie fortunes:
☺ Anything you do will fascinate the person you’re thinking ☺
☺ A pleasant surprise is in store for you soon ☺
☺ The one you love is closer than you think ☺
17. A mismatched pair of blue and pink lobelia flower earrings hang off the shot glass’ rim.
18. The dark, muted blue geometric candle in the glass ashtray. It hasn’t melted much (or at all?) since the last photo.
19. The clear glass bottle with the cascading pothos cutting, plentiful roots, yellowing leaves.
20. The photo of my aunt and I. There’s a Seinfeld episode where George takes a woman home to his parents’ place and lies about how it’s his place, but there are a bunch of his baby photos on display (because it’s a parent- house and that’s what parents do), and the woman finds it weird that an adult would have his own baby photos on display in his own home. It made me wonder if it’s weird that I have some of my baby photos on display in my own home. I wonder if it’s weirder that I have secondhand photos of strangers on display in my own home.
21. Dust.
On the floor —
22. My grandma’s table. I feel the need to clarify: my grandma is very much alive, we had lunch last week. I guess, at some point, she just didn’t want/need the table anymore, so she gave it to my mom. And when my mom didn’t want/need the table anymore, she gave it to me. My mom once told me that my grandma’s not very precious with items that don’t necessarily hold sentimental value; she’d always get rid of stuff very easily. It’s just stuff, after all.
On the table —
23. A green glass wine bottle with a bright pink, half-melted candle.
24. The clear bottle with a chartreuse candlestick melted into a lopsided shape. The bottle is covered in wax drippings.
25. The bearded hunk statuette, looking off into the distance, proud and strong, sporting the giant chartreuse scrunchie, its voluminous fabric tastefully exposes a bit of his defined collarbone. He’s been through a lot but has returned to his natural state, victorious.
26. A pink ceramic incense holder made by Nightshift Ceramics in Toronto.
27. The stack: The Gourmand magazine, Houseplants Covered with Snow, the big shell with miscellaneous jewelry, a small ceramic dish with blue details for my rings (empty).
28. The neighbouring stack: Perdiz magazine, Nées Nues, a small ceramic bowl (containing the acrylic earrings).
29. A lanky, luscious pothos made up of three vines that were water-propagated. Its leaves are big and plentiful and a bit droopy. (I need to water it.) It’s in a green plastic planter that still has the price sticker on it. There are two yellow gnat-catching sticky tapes in the soil.
30. The light pink geometric candle, unlit. and unchanged from the last photo.
31. A vintage mini-tube vase with a languid pothos cutting.
32. The pink shell container, almost completely covered by the green pothos vine.
33. A metal-encased Jewish prayer book covered by the pothos. More specifically: it’s a Hebrew-English Siddur Avodat Israel from the late 1960s that I bought for $20 at a flea market in Miami in April 2022. The market had the most Judaica I’d ever seen (unsurprisingly), but I was especially drawn towards this one particular siddur in a way that I can’t explain and that doesn’t make sense. First of all, I’m a secular Jew! I’m not even religious! I’ll probably never use the prayer book as intended, or agree with the words inscribed therein! The siddur was also among a group of four siddurim, and it was in the worst condition of them all: its pages were ripped, its binding was coming undone, its once-silver metal was spattered with tarnished and oxidized splotches. Would it be foolish to opt for the book that’s so worn, that would “““objectively””” be of lower value? Maybe. But I bought it anyway. Because maybe there’s more to value. And maybe it’s not pristine because it held a regular place in someone’s life—not as a precious object to preserve, but as a significant thing with a significant function. And maybe all of that—use, prayer, belief, living-with—has to go somewhere. Maybe it goes out there in the world and in that person and in this book, their book, my book. Maybe that use leaves traces that are tangible and sensible to us: the frayed ribbon bookmark on page 258 and 259, the smell of perfume and old paper lingering on the pages, the rips and marks and patina. But maybe some of those traces aren’t tangible and sensible to us, and those traces manifest as an inexplicably powerful energy emanating from a supposedly inanimate object. Or maybe that’s just coming from my imagination and it’s all in my head— like how we project our feelings onto dogs or something. Maybe I’m more foolish and spiritual than I, an INTELLECTUAL, want to admit. I don’t know. But I wonder if something happens when we live with these things—these objects that sometimes, somehow end up becoming important to us. I wonder if things become entrenched as we become entangled with each other. I wonder how—together—we collect, gather, accumulate.
34. Dust.
