The ponderings on souvenirs, (see http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2013/02/on-souvenirs-place-memories.html
), raised the question of the importance that objects in our personal space can
have for us. But how do we use souvenirs? How do they use us? My eye was caught
by a simple potholder lying on the kitchen bench amongst the usual culinary
clutter. It had been used for some years and really had never been given a
thought. Now I am looking at it. The square holder is bordered with a
repetition of 'NOOSA,' as if to make the point clear no matter how the square
might lie. Inside this lettered border, a designer has cleverly manipulated a
diagram of an aerial angle of the Noosa beach cove and its adjacent headland
into a diagonal division of the square, with schematic shells and beach
paraphernalia in one corner, and a diagrammatic sun in the other. Spiky shapes
that look like pandanus fronds overlap the rippled ocean expanse. The design is
printed on fabric in bright, sunny colours. This is Noosa, icon of the north
coast beaches - those north of Brisbane - in sunny Queensland that promotes
itself to tourists by boasting of being 'brilliant one day, better the next,'
or something just as trite. It does rain in Australia too, as the reports of
severe floods reveal; and devastating cyclones are not unknown.
How did we get
this little piece of Australia on the kitchen bench in the gales, rain and
sleet of sunny Shetland where all weathers can appear in one day? It is not
something we would have purchased. It must have been left here by a 'friend or
family' member. I am always intrigued by this common reference and its
juxtaposition of classifications that seems to exclude the possibility of any
family member ever having anything like a friendly relationship with another.
Such are families. The potholder has been used as the stains show. Did it ever
bring to mind the pleasant days we have had in Noosa? Surely this is the role
of a souvenir.
Well, frankly no. When I first noticed it - it must have been around for some time - the design caught my eye: maybe the colours. The repetitive linear lettering stood out - NOOSA NOOSA NOOSA NOOSA . . . - punctuated with a small diagram of the sun, a shell, a boat, a pandanus, etc., all themes from the main illustration, with a different image in each corner and between each naming. Then the bright emerald green squiggles of the ocean were observed . . . then the pattern of the whole: its ingenious diagonal arrangement. It is an 'interesting' design that exudes a certain brash confidence, a little like a Ken Done graphic. But do I feel any relationship or connection to the experience of Noosa? No. Does this potholder remind me of Noosa? No, there is nothing vital, essential, or necessary here. I can make myself recall Noosa and match the diagram of the design to its geographical features, but this is an intellectual effort. Perhaps I could also see the pattern as a beach at Penang? Nothing is immediate here. There is no connective feeling. It just is a coloured pattern with text repeating NOOSA frequently, as if it knows that the graphic design alone will not make this connection. It doesn't. One notices the stylisation before the subject, the colours and marks before the place. This is not Noosa; or Shetland. It is a decorated potholder with an advertisement on it.
So is the
potholder useful? Well, yes. None of the letters, shapes or colours detracts
from its function as a potholder. It even has a corner loop that allows it to
be hung nearby for convenience. The 'souvenir' qualities of this small piece of
padded fabric are intellectual rather than experiential. One has to think about
the Noosa connection to establish any link. The potholder reminds one of the
other classic souvenir - the tea towel. These are used unseen, un-thought-of.
They are handled totally carelessly, whether they are carrying images of
London, Sydney, dogs, or sketched self-portraits of the grandchildren. In fact
a tea towel declaring 'Jenolan Caves New South Wales' has just been noticed
hanging on the oven handle. One picks the cloth up nonchalantly with every
attention being given to the task at hand - wet or hot. Occasionally 'Irish
linen - Made in, say, Checoslovakia' will appear as the towel wipes the plate
or brushes the bench, revealing information that bears no relationship to the
reference of the images that could be Argentina or Africa. I look and discover
that the 'Jenolan Caves' tea towel is 'Irish Linen, Designed in Australia, Hand
Printed.' It cunningly avoids telling where it was made - Taiwan? India?
Another tea towel covering a platter of cheese catches my eye. It displays an
'Australan Koala Bear' in a gum tree. The lower border bold text tells: - 'PURE
IRISH LINEN, FAST COLORS, MADE IN IRELAND.' In Ireland, there was a tea towel
souvenir of Dublin that was 'Pure Cotton.' I have never worked this one out.
Just why Australian bears or caves should appear printed on Irish linen, while
drawings of Dublin are screened onto cotton - possibly Australian cotton -
remains one of those strange puzzles in our world today. Christy Moore sings of
tourists passing: ‘They go here, and we go there,’ in the same way as Fritz
Schumacher wrote of trucks with Edinburgh-made biscuits going to London pass
the trucks with London-made biscuits going to Edinburgh. There is a certain
lack of rigour and care here that seems just too blatant in the way the
coherence of context is ignored, when product and place are both celebrated and
neglected. Today, one sees 'Made in China' on most souvenirs everywhere.
After the first
recognition of the message and the initial enthusiasm for the souvenir, which
could be appropriate 'Oohs and Aahs' in astonished praise for the piece of memorabilia,
it eventually becomes just a functional object, whether linen, cotton or hemp;
birds, bears or buildings; Australia, Argentina or America. Its value lies in
its effectiveness as a tool. Linen is better than cotton sometimes. Some
potholders are better insulated than others. So, given this outcome where the
function of the item is all that matters, why would anyone bother about the
souvenir print? Perhaps it made someone happy; or maybe it solved someone's
dilemma: 'What will I buy Bill - and Mary?' Maybe the delight of the tourist,
freed from 'everyday' concerns, cast a beneficial glow, and made this
particular piece immediately irresistible? Whatever it was, as a potholder or
as a tea towel, the item could have had anything else or nothing on it. It
would make no functional difference.
The flipside of the souvenir - what it becomes in its end context - shows a fast-fading vision that turns into a functional reality. Just what happens to souvenirs that have no function beyond being a 'thingy' thing is anyone's guess. The charity shops are full of these pieces that just get given away when their original interest fades, or when the dust becomes just too much of a problem. Such is the life of a souvenir. Some linger on into a life of their own, like the cup from Baltaound, Shetland from the early 1950's. It is of historic interest now as it reveals the promotions of another era - a more polite time that labelled its decorative items in lovely descriptive script: 'A Present from Baltasound.' The role of this cup now is to form part of a display in the Unst Heritage Centre. Ah, those were the days!
Other objects
continue with their sad declaration of, say, 'Katoomba,' in dark drawers of
wonderful clutter to be discovered by others who have never heard of the place,
(in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney: 'gateway to the Jenolan Caves'), and who
have no interest in knowing about the place where the silly little knife
apparently came from. The original driving desire to purchase the fruit knife
has long dissipated or has disappeared. The object now stands alone in the
world of dross, or has been gathered into a collection of similar discards in
the local junk store. The pathos of the box filled with teaspoons, each
declaring an origin and a destination that no one now cares for, is just
overwhelming. These were once more than loved. They were once the markers of
happiness; the embodiment of delight and memories. They each once recalled an
exact time and place of purchase, now forgotten and irrelevant. They are just a
pile of tired, neglected kitsch that is not given the dignity of even ordinary
use. The very best that these dull instruments can hope for is to become
someone's quirky decorative piece; or for one item from the messy mass to
reignite as a flicker, that original fire in someone who knows and has a love
for a recognised location. The most likely outcome is that the tarnishing and
corroding tangle of metal will remain as an embarrassment to folk by reminding
them of the time when they too once purchased such silly and expensive items
with a mad enthusiasm.
Such are souvenirs, doodads, that the dictionary more rationally describes as: n. keepsake; memento. v. sl. purloin. The verb is interesting. Souvenirs themselves eventually purloin one's dignity. The circumstance is most frequently revealed in the self-consciously nonchalant explanation, "Oh, that was purchased when we were in . . . ," words that seek to overcome humiliation and responsibility by revealing that the choice was made when one was a tourist - when one was emotionally distracted and differently irrational - see http://springbrooklocale.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/who-or-what-is-tourist.html
sou·ve·nir (s
v
-nîr
, sv-nîr) n.
A token of remembrance; a memento.
[French, from Old French, to recall, memory, from Latin subven
re, to come to mind : sub-, sub- + venre, to come; see gw
- in Indo-European roots.] (The Free Dictionary)
re, to come to mind : sub-, sub- + venre, to come; see gw- in Indo-European roots.] (The Free Dictionary)
Does this explain why these French souvenirs remain both beautiful and useful even after being discarded in a charity shop? Is it their modesty; their genuine interest in nature and people that makes them more than kitsch?
see also
http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2013/02/what-is-object.html
Another thought arises: is the re-enactment of the past a kind of performance souvenir? - see
Another thought arises: is the re-enactment of the past a kind of performance souvenir? - see
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