Memory Box: Reaching for Remnants

As a result of the Covid-19 global pandemic, my senior year college experience was cut short. I was forced to leave campus, having to say goodbye to my friends and the life that I had. Due to the suddenness of my departure, I had to abandon many of my belongings, belongings that had furnished my dorm rooms throughout my four years at college. These belongings had been present through my ups and downs, through parties and studying and everything in between. Throwing out these items felt like I was throwing away my memories. Looking around my empty dorm room, I reflected on all of the experiences I had in that room and I became overwhelmed with sadness. The deep feeling of loss that I experienced while disposing of my belongings caused me to reflect on the relationship people have with domestic spaces and inanimate objects. 

Domestic spaces are environments completely fabricated by people for people; though they are collections of inanimate objects, they become infused with traces of people’s memories. These traces create a connection between the owner of the house and the house itself, transforming the inanimate space into an extension of the body. The bedroom is the most personal space in one’s home, it is where people can express themselves the most freely knowing that their room is not on display to others like the rest of the house is. The bedroom is also the least curated room in the house, allowing for a more honest depiction of the owner. 

Through creating a diorama of my dorm room, I am replacing what I have lost due to Covid-19. Memories are not the same as reality, they are a representation of part of an experience. Like a memory, my diorama is a small representation of my college experience, a piece of a whole that can be packed up in a box and brought home with me. Memories become more and more degraded over time as they are reflected upon. As I fixate on my lost college experience that I so desperately wish to hold onto through the construction of my diorama, my memories begin to warp and fade, causing the physical representation that I have built to become warped. What is left is a mangled mixture of truth and fiction, of which even I am not sure which is which.