In my four years working at Colony, I’ve moved four times – which means I’ve become quite familiar with my material objects and their respective dimensions as I’ve fit them into the back of various moving vans, up countless sets of stairs, and around tight corners. Each packing period has become an exercise in self-editing and assessing my things for how often and how well I use them. I’ve let enough pieces go curbside to feel protective over those that have stuck with me and adversely towards the idea of further thoughtless consumption.
My surviving pieces have been, for the most part, a largely sentimental mix of family heirlooms and cherished thrift store finds. That is with the exception of my prized possession – my half moon chair from Vonnegut/Kraft lacquered in a sunset peach, which I’ve ubiquitously dubbed “pink”.