What we do
In 1978, Hayden White wrote about the art of writing histories. He argued that historiography is a poetic exercise. Historians plot stories; they highlight certain aspects and downplay others. Histories follow certain underlining and prefigured narrative structures within which we understand, read and reproduce our reality. Yet, each story, told differently, bent and crooked, follows some basic logic. History repeats itself in its telling, over and over, year after year. Telling stories is so important because our stories spawn new ones.
The careful craft of a storyteller emphasizes leaving loose ends. Loose ends let our minds soar like a kite; stories set us free. There are three kinds of stories in this exhibit. First are the stories of homes and homemakers. Home is more than the nuts, bolts, joists and joints that define a shelter. It is a symbolic space of ownership, memories, tears and love. It grounds residents to a piece of land and a lifetime of memories. Second, there are “community” stories. Residents fondly tell tales of a past long gone. Streets full of friends. Safe. Familiar. And now lost forever. The tales of loss are laments of a world that has changed irreversibly. They are also tales that reflect fear of the other, the unfamiliar and the unhomely, slowly creeping up the street onto one’s doorstep. These stories remind us that our community changes everyday and we have to constantly remake ourselves in order to belong in this ever-changing world. The third set of stories tells us about plants, animals, sun, wind and water. These stories narrate how we belong in this world of beauty and love—fearful of nature’s might and destructive power, obsessive about our relationship to this huge ecosystem. Nature is not something outside us—it is what we make and remake everyday and it is that larger home where we belong. |
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