Created by Hand

PRINCY VAIDYAN

It may sound a bit odd, but one of my favorite objects is my grandmother’s clay pot. It is earthenware of ordinary brown clay, circular in shape, wide and hollow. The bottom surface is blackened by heat from fire; sole evidence that the pot was used for cooking purposes. It weighs light enough to be carried by one hand, but my mother insists that it be handled with care since it can break. The bottom is curved from both sides, leading to an indentation (a moving in of the potter’s hands) to create the opening at the top. It is simple yet unique. There is no glaze or flowery prints adorning its exterior, but just strayed lines and faded color from overuse. Nonetheless, it speaks volumes to our past and our experiences.

Culturally, every village of every state in India has a potter, who wheels out variety of household items, such as bowls, plates, and urns for carrying water. I grew up in this culture, where great value was placed in the “natural” and items were formed and created by hand instead of machines. Historically, this item is significant to me, because it connects me to the earliest traditions of civilization and culture- where clay pots infused creativity of all kinds: a potter working with his hands, leading to an aroma of meals flooding the kitchen. And as if the possibilities were endless, these objects were once used as musical instruments and they bore spiritual symbols. With the spread of urbanization, these pots are rarely seen (in its natural form) or used in modern-day India.

Although, this clay pot is valuable both culturally and historically, it takes a hold of me emotionally, as well. I have a special love for this object, in particular, because it reminds me of my dear grandmother. She raised me until I was six years old, and I still recall watching her standing in the kitchen, marinating some fresh fish and making curry in clays pots like these. She was a great cook, and objects like these make me smile because it helps me remember. When she had passed away in 2002, we returned home and took back with us whatever we can carry- that will remind us of her. This clay pot came with us too.

In conclusion, objects reflect and define beauty, utility, and inspiration. They provide a dramatic and, at times, unexpected backdrop for exciting and unique stories. They have a way of eliciting a memory that cannot be justified through the use of words or deeds. With that said, I believe objects hold great meaning. It expresses our culture, our values, our stories, and above all, it evokes a sense of intellectual and emotional “engagement.” Moreover, one can argue that the value of an object is rather subjective than objective. This can be so, since value of an item is often acquired through one’s experience. Nevertheless, I feel as if all objects can tell a tale, if we are simply willing to listen and think outside of our cultural box. Living in a world where items are mass-produced continuously, the value of an object can be lost. However, I have come to realize that- objects don’t have to be a priceless work of art in a museum to be interesting. At times they are intriguing, simply because they are a part of our everyday lives; or they remind us of a past that is not necessarily dead, but all around us!

Cultural Contact Zones...Chile

KEITH G JUTKOWITZ

My dad is originally from Chile, but he has lived in the United States since he was 15 years old. When I was 16 years old I went to Chile for the first time in my life to visit my family there and to learn Spanish. I stayed in Chile for about six months studying Spanish at a language institute. I stayed in the house of my uncle, aunt, and cousin who was 18 years old at the time and a senior in high school.

The culture in Chile is very different than the culture here in the United States. For example, when I first got there we met up with my uncle, aunt, and cousin to eat, and for me it was the first time that I met them.

In Chile smoking cigarettes is very common and almost everybody smokes. So as soon as I met my aunt she started to smoke and gave my cousin a cigarette and then asked me if I wanted one. In Chile that would be an insult if she did not offer everyone at the table a cigarette. Of course I was in high school at that time and I was used to hearing speeches about how smoking is bad and about not drinking. It was very funny for me because there drinking and smoking is part of their culture and here it is very different. This was just one of many cultural differences that I noticed. In Chile there is also no political correctness, so people say whatever they want, and it is acceptable. Down there people don’t get offended very easily. It’s hard to describe this to Americans because some of the stuff that they say would be an insult or taken the wrong way here in the U.S.

In Chile people move very slowly and things take time. It is very different in the United States--especially on the east coast were everything is very fast and people don’t have a lot of patience. For example when my cousin says “vamo” (let’s go/ get out of here), I know that means in reality we won’t be leaving at that moment but in like 25 or 30 minutes. Also people go out much later there and everything closes later. At 9:30 or 10:00 all of the bars are empty and nothing much is going on. There, people leave at like 12:00 or 1:30 in the morning and get back to their houses at around 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning. Chile is a completely different world compared to the United States.

In Chile they also have a different sense of style than they do here. There it’s acceptable to have long hair and be un-shaven. You could go to a job interview with a beard and long hair, and it is not viewed as not taking care of yourself.

Part of my cultural contact zone was living there and getting used to their customs, but the other part has been coming back to the United Stated and getting used to how things work here. It is hard to readjust to the lifestyle here after coming from a place that is so different. It is also hard to describe how things work down there to people here because it is so different and I don’t want people to get offended or take it the wrong way.

The Very Existence of the Table

FEISI LANG

The most intriguing object I found in my grandparents’ house was a piece of old and dull furniture with all sorts of Chinese characters carved on its surface. This particular piece of furniture was unique to my family because it had been around for over sixty years. It had survived over half century, and witness numerous historic events since World War II.

Although China wasn't really involved much in World War II, China was still under the control of Qing Dynasty. I was told that underneath the table there were weird symbols that specially identify the maker of the desk. On the surface, my uncle carved some sort of propaganda which praised the communist government.

The table was very standardized with four supported legs and a surface. The paint was mostly invisible which left with a natural color of the wood. The contour lines of the wood was destroyed by the curvature, so the surface was very uneven. I am not very clear what kind of wood the table was made with.

I know that my grandfather brought the furniture some time before World War II. We used it as the office desk, then dinner table, then a kitchen table, and finally we used for laying junks on it. The each transformation of usage had a story behind it. I call it “the glory days of my grandfather.” During the 1930s, my grandfather owned a factory and sold the products to the Japanese. He worked day and night behind this particular desk. Then World War II started, and the Japanese invaded China. He shut down his business brought this table home, where my grandmother serves dinner; hence, we used it as dinning table. Finally the war was over, both my mother and my uncle were married and we all still live together. The dinner table is too small to support a family of six, so we used it to prepare food. Now, my grandparents are over eighty years old, and they seldom cook again. The table was just there in the corner with plies of pots and dishes on it.

I am always infuriated when they refuse to get rid of the old furniture. I question them why won’t they get new furniture. They reply: “it reminds them the old days, where they tried so hard to thrived in this world, worked so laborious to provide the best for the us.” Furthermore, the table was a historical witness to our family, because it recorded the growth of a typical family during some of the hardest time in China. The very existence of the table might tell historians that my family struggles financially, or else we would’ve got new furniture to replace the old one. The curvature might represent the influences of society on my uncle. When he was younger and naïve, he was pretty much brain-washed by the government. The stains of grease and source might indicate a traditional Chinese family likes to dine together with freshly cooked food.

The Story of a Mug

JASON C WOLBACH

The object that has special meaning to me is a personal belonging. After a visit to La Paz, Mexico I acquired, as it might be described by Jules David Prown, this “device.” This particular item is hand-held, fairly rough on its exterior and in sharp contrast, smoothly polished on the inside. I have affection for this Mexican mug that I am describing. The interior of the mug can hold twice the amount of liquid as a normal mug and its outside has a painting of a man in a sombrero resting next to a cactus.

Although the mug was not very pretty or particularly special, I decided to purchase the assumedly hand-made item from an apparently poor woman selling various trinkets. People buy souvenirs frequently when visiting foreign places and often lose them within months of possession. Acquiring this kitchen item was fairly significant and not having to relinquish it has only increased its importance to me. I had been working on cruise ships for a few years by the time I had made my visit to La Paz. Bringing home novelties for family and friends during my vacation time had become commonplace. However, I never bothered to purchase any souvenirs for myself.

Up until this ship tour through different Mexican ports, there was no desire for material items that I might be able to have as mementos. I had gained friends and memorable experiences from my work travel abroad. However, my time on ships was coming to a close and since I knew that I would never be back to visit La Paz, the purchase seemed appropriate. Mexico has the most inviting people I have ever encountered and having something tangible to remind me of its wonderful culture was very important to me. I did do one more contract on ships that took me to other parts of the Caribbean after I had left the mug in the safe care of my mother. After returning to the U.S. and while in the process of settling into an apartment, I had a reconnecting conversation with my mother that included her admission to accidently breaking my mug into small pieces. She did manage to glue it back together but I was never able to drink out of it again. The mug was briefly used as a container for dishwashing utensils in my apartment but now it just sits empty next to a dish rack.

The seams where the glue had been applied are quite obvious but I cannot part with having the mug in my home. Since I have been back in the U.S., the mug from La Paz has moved with me to two different homes over the past three years. The longer that its existence is present around me, the more I feel personal attachment to it. “Old things” have meaning because of the events that surrounded and continue to occur in their presence. There is nostalgia involved with this mug for me but that does not apply to all objects that hold meaning to others. My grandfather contemplated purchasing a piece of the Berlin Wall when it fell. The rock he would receive was a piece of history that symbolized moving forward and not looking back. Significant events surrounded that wall. However, those events gave the pieces of the wall power just as my experiences in Mexico and on ships did for my mug. There were several similar mugs just like it in the woman’s small store. Although my mug was not very discernible from the others in the Mexican shop, the journeys that I experienced to get me to the mug and the journeys the mug went through after I became its owner turned it into more than just an ordinary drinking device.

I believe that meaningful objects always have some kind of story. If there is no personal connection between an object and myself, I believe that there could still be significant meaning to the object anyway. An object could be representative of a culture or significant event without a person ever realizing the importance that it holds unless they were actively made aware by someone else. For obvious reasons, objects made with rare or expensive materials could also hold some form of value. Giving an object value or meaning is both an objective and subjective matter that cannot be finitely quantified.

Welcome to American Lives

This blog as a way to keep track of some the terrific writing that students in my American Lives class have done this spring at Temple University. Every couple of weeks we have had short themed writing assignments that respond in someway to the readings and discussions in our class.

I hope to use this space as a place where class members can read some of the best of each other's work and better understand each other's stories.