It all started in a museum. I found myself staring at pieces of "crap" sealed in glass boxes—old keys, faded letters, broken trinkets. At first, I wondered: why are these objects so important that they deserve a place in a museum? What stories do they hold? As I walked around, it dawned on me that these seemingly insignificant items are often forgotten, overlooked by the blind eye. Yet, they carry immense emotional weight. They are fragments of lives lived, memories preserved, and identities etched into physical form. 

This realization resonated deeply with me. I’ve always been nosy, not in an intrusive way, but in a way that makes me curious about the mundane objects people surround themselves with. The boring, everyday items—receipts, worn-out shoes, a favourite coffee mug—these are the things that fascinate me. They tell stories, even if we don’t always realize it. 

My visit to the Berlin Memorial further solidified this idea. There, I saw personal objects left behind by people long gone. Each item, no matter how trivial, seemed to carry a fragment of someone’s life. Who were they? What did these objects mean to them? It made me realize that even "crap" has value—it’s not just rubbish, but a repository of memories, emotions, and identity. 

Reading Stuff Matters by Mark Miodownik deepened this realization. The book explores the materials that shape our world—paper, steel, glass—and how they’ve transformed human history. Paper revolutionized communication; steel made skyscrapers possible. These materials are so ingrained in our lives that we rarely stop to think about their significance. But what would life be like without them? The mundane, it turns out, is anything but mundane. 

This perspective shifted how I view art. Instead of focusing solely on what art represents, I began to consider how it’s made, why it’s made, and what it’s made of. This led me to artists like Kija Lucas, whose work Objects to be Remembered By explores the emotional weight of personal objects. Her art made me wonder: what objects define me? I asked friends and family what item they associated with me, and their answers surprised me. I never realized how much the things I own—my "crap"—shape how others see me and, in turn, how I see myself. 

This idea appealed to me because I’ve always felt a strong connection to the objects around me. I constantly questioned how such small things can have a profound mental, physical, and emotional effect on us and our society. I chose to explore the emotional side of physical objects and belongings because it gives a clearer sense of what the object’s purpose is and how it can be interpreted by different people. 

In addition to individual emotional connections, I explored the collective emotional ties we have as a society to certain objects. For example, the American flag is more than just a piece of fabric; it represents a collective emotional connection to a country and its values. Similarly, certain objects can represent shared cultural history or identity. These objects become symbols, carrying the weight of collective memory and emotion. 

All of this influenced my own art. In my photography projects, I began to incorporate "crap" visibly. To stay true to the theme, I experimented with photograms and scanography. One of my first projects involved scanning the rubbish left in my jacket for a month—receipts, ticket stubs, crumpled paper. At first glance, they might look like random pieces of paper with no reason to be art. But each one has a story behind it, a memory attached to it.  

One of my most significant pieces is a conceptual "museum" installation. I collected everyday objects from friends and family—each with a story or emotional significance—and displayed them in glass boxes, much like the museum that inspired me. The result was a powerful exploration of how "crap" can hold profound emotional value. It became an intimate insight into who I am. 

So, why does "crap" matter? Because it’s not just rubbish. It’s a reflection of who we are, what we value, and how we connect to the world around us. These objects, no matter how mundane, carry stories, memories, and emotions. They shape our identities and help us relate to one another on a deeper level. By paying attention to the everyday objects we often overlook, we can uncover the hidden narratives that make us human. 

In a world that often prioritizes the new and the shiny, it’s easy to forget the importance of the old and the worn. But these objects—our "crap"—are the threads that weave the fabric of our lives. They remind us of where we’ve been, who we are, and what we hold dear. And that, in itself, is worth preserving. So, thinking about yourself, what ‘crap’ defines you?