Waxing Nostalgia for an Object Long Before My Time

If I have any nostalgia for film going by the wayside, it is for the metal containers that were popular before I was born. A couple years ago, I made this print which depicts an old mobile that hung above my crib. It was covered in mold and I had to toss it (but not before it was photographed and included in the series Autobiography). My parents inserted a small marble inside the tin which made it rattle. Though I have no memories of it as a child, it was this addition that made it so compelling to photograph two summers ago.

While cleaning the garage in June, I rediscovered a camping first aid kit that my mother gave me. Inside was another film canister - this one clearly marked with its function. Long past expiration, I threw away the aspirin but kept the tin.

In addition to storing pain relieving medicine, I remember one in my father's office desk drawer. After spending an afternoon at school while he graded, it was always an exciting moment when it appeared. It was full of quarters that were relegated for the vending machine. The film canister was a metaphor for caffeinated beverages.

Though I have no need for them, I can't help but wonder what I would store if a stash like this suddenly appeared in my studio.