This image of furniture dumped on a Glasgow street spoke loudly to me. I wondered about its previous life, the service it had given, and now with its back to the building, how it appears outcast, warned to dare not look back.
The scene brought back strong memories of nights at (Great) Aunt Mary’s in London. Mary lived in a tiny council flat, but that didn’t stop her entire extended family from visiting at the same time. There was never enough furniture and so kitchen chairs would migrate to the lounge and one was always stationed next to Mary sat in her armchair from where she would hold court. The TV might also be on playing to itself in the corner. They were fun nights, filled with stories and gossip, even the occasional song from my tipsy grandfather, rounded out with late-night white bread and tinned ham with mustard sandwiches. Pure bliss.
I’m fascinated by inanimate everyday objects that pass through our lives, eventually, warn out or no longer in style, they’re disposed of. When we cleared my mother’s house, she watched us smash apart reproduction furniture that nobody wanted. Something she once treasured and we could barely brush against without being yelled at, we were now dismantling with large hammers.
The scene above would have lasted just some hours, a transition from one state to another. It’s these brief moments that fascinate me. Chairs in particular tickle me. I hope one day to find the perfect 1970s metal legged, plastic topped school chair, preferably orange, and to take it on a tour to photograph in different locations. The chair would be from my own school days. I might even capture the scenes using a lens from the same era. I would imagine the hundreds of kids that sat on that chair and their different lives, and how not for one second they would have ever imagined its adventure some 50-60 years later.
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