I spent a little time this morning updating what we call our “inventory”, in the light of my recent birthday and the purchase of a picture. The purpose of this is simply to provide a record for our families, in the event of our death, of the items we have around the house that have some value, and should not be sent without reflection to a charity shop. For the most part these are not listed because of their monetary value, but because of the associations they have with people or events. The term “sentimental value” is often used to describe this kind of thing, but “sentiment” seems to be too weak a word in the case of many of these things.
I’ll just take two examples. My wife remarked as I was doing the updating that somewhere in the list is a plate, of no monetary value, but she recalls that it was used every day during her childhood to bring bread and butter to the table. On the mantlepiece in the living room is a clock which was presented to my father when he left the church of which he was a minister, in 1953.*
Leaving aside the question of the market value of any object, it is interesting to reflect on the extent to which, in major or minor ways, our identities are constituted subtly by objects, many of which are of trivial significance to the outside observer.
I know that in my own case who I am might be inferred in part from the pictures I have bought, and in some cases treasure. On a day which has been spent in part packing up one of my pictures ready for the courier to take to the person who has just bought it, I can’t help but wonder whether and in what respects my work might come to play this kind of role in the lives of others.
*Incidentally, the list contains none of my paintings, although there is a separate catalogue of those.