I chose to “tidy up” my closet, but I focused only on tops or shirts; particularly sweatshirts, sweaters, cardigans, and long sleeve shirts. I started with around fifty items, and removed fifteen from my closet through this process. When placing all the items into one common place, I realized just how many items of clothing I had and was a bit shocked. I found that this realization was a bit similar to the ones Kondo describes and that is seen in the Netflix series, where people do not realize how much they have until it is in one big pile in front of them. I found myself trying to rationalize how many articles of clothing I had right off the bat, and told myself that it is because I am from upstate where it can be colder, and that I in fact wore all of these items. However, I soon found out that this mindset would get me nowhere, and that I had to take a step back and really find the perspective Kondo describes.

After reading the sections from Kondo’s book and watching the series, I knew how the process worked, and I thought it would come relatively easily. However, I found the process a lot harder than I expected it to be. I am a regular cleaner, and enjoy going through my closet and getting rid of what I am not wearing after each season. This process though, was more challenging for me, as finding what sparked joy for me was not as easy as just getting rid of out of season clothes. I found myself thinking about everything that article of clothing was; where I got the article of clothing, who I was with if I purchased it myself, or who gave it to me if it was a gift, and what happened the last time I wore that specific item. Was the memory of that item a good or bad one, how did I feel that last time I wore it, who was with me the last time I wore it, would I find pictures of myself wearing this sweater or sweatshirt in the past, did I enjoy those pictures or did I not want them shared with others? All of these questions circled in my mind throughout this whole process, and made it harder for me to get rid of things. If someone in my family picked out that sweater for me I associated that item with them and found that it was harder to part with, even if I couldn’t feel joy with that item right away, or if a sweatshirt was from a place I traveled too and had great memories from that place I wanted to keep it. I guess in some ways that could be considered bringing me joy, but at the end of this process I felt as if I still had a lot of clothing, and was not successful in “tidying up”.

I think that this feeling of not getting rid of as much as I thought I would or as much as I should can be contributed to many things. Watching the show, the people cleaned their whole living spaces while I only tackled certain items in my closet. I think since I saw them get rid of so much more, I thought I should have more too. I think that this feeling also relates to my relationship with clothes. I have always struggled with body image, and I definitely realized that I have an attachment to certain things. If a sweater or sweatshirt got me through a difficult time or I felt that I looked a certain way in that article of clothing, I found myself wanting to keep it. Even if the item reminded me of that difficult time, or if I was not happy in the item but “looked good” in relation to beauty standards, I held onto it. This dynamic is something I did not foresee being so prominent in my life, and in my closet. Overall, this process opened my eyes to the bigger picture that Kondo describes, and I have come to conclude that I need to more clearly and distinctly figure out what kind of life I want after the tidying process. I think I will try this process again in the future, after I have more concretely decided what I want to get out of it, and hope for a more fulfilling and joyful outcome.

I have decided to tidy my memory box. Every time I make a memory, a small part of that day goes into the box. I started by categorizing the items in the box into cards, ticket stubs/plays, photos and miscellaneous. As I was sorting it, instantly in my mind, I saw things I wanted to get rid of, things that I had left at the bottom on the box, forgotten. I realized I had 28 cards, 16 ticket stubs, 2 signed plays, 84 pictures and 18 miscellaneous.

The cards were either birthday cards from my staff or my sorority that I didn’t want to part with. The ticket stubs ranged from movie dates with my boyfriend as we started dating to movies I went with friends. I understand that I could throw these out because I don’t need them. They bought me joy when I went all those years ago but now it’s just paper that reminded me of those great times. Looking at the two play books, the Dear Evan Hansen was signed by the original cast and Hamilton was an amazing experience, both adventures that my brother took me on. I decided to follow KonMari’s idea of ripping the page that was most important, so that’s what I did. I ripped out the front cover and tossed the rest. The photos were mostly of my best friend and I from years ago, which I realized that I don’t need anymore. Those memories will forever be with me and I don’t need physical photos to prove that. There’s also pictures of my boyfriend and I in the beginning of our relationship along with photos of my sorority when I first joined. A lot of memories in that box, but also many forgotten memories. There was also a few photos from high school and I still love those people so I might keep a few of those. The miscellaneous can probably all go, a lot of it was things I have collected from camp as a counselor, things that remind me of my future and why I chose the path I did. I also realized a lot of the miscellaneous things were origami that my camp kids made for me as a goodbye gift and I treasured those in that moment, but now I realized it’s just clutter.

Starting with the miscellaneous pile, I threw out everything but the origami rose and white flower corsage that were given to me by the two most important people in my life right now, my boyfriend and my sorority girls. Holding both in my hand, definitely brought me joy. Next, I moved onto the ticket stubs, which was hard. Each ticket stub had its own story, whether it was with friends or significant others. I realized that I had only gone to amazing movies like Deadpool, Crazy Rich Asians, Coco, Ocean 8 etc. In the end, I realized I don’t need these tiny stubs to remind me of the great films I have seen. I decided I will keep only three tickets: one from the American Museum of Natural History, one from a Lindsey Stirling concert and the last one was from the Great Jack O’Lantern Blaze. All three experiences were amazing and I would like to keep mementos of them. Maybe one day they will be discarded, but for now, they mean a lot to me.

Next, I went through the photos and put all the old ones in one photo packet and some of the recent ones in the other packet and left the most important ones on the surface. I realized that there were so many changes in my lifeas I got older. I lost and gain friends and those that I lost, their photos have been stored away. Eventually, those photos will be thrown out but at this moment, I’m just going to put them out of sight. Last but not least, I saved the cards for last because I knew they were going to be the most difficult ones for me to look through. These handmade cards have stories of their own given to me by the people in my life. I would hate to see any of it go but I understand that I need to clear some of it out. As I went through it, I decided to throw out anything that was written to me by my camp kids, such as scribbles of their names and thank you notes. I decided to keep only those that I could read and had an impact on me when I thought about it. There was one card written by one of my favorite kids and the minute I opened it, a smile appeared on my face and in my mind, I saw her face. It’s amazing what a memento like this one could do to someone’s emotions. The question now is, is it worth keeping? I also came across a birthday card I was suppose to give a friend of mine but then we grew apart. Holding that card in my hand gave me a feeling of sadness but sometimes things like that, are meant to happen in your life because better things are coming your way.

Overall, I feel like I have cleared out a lot, but I also notice that there are a few things I still hold onto and that’s okay. Going through my old stuff was a great way of going down memory lane, but it also helped me understand what I need or don’t need. In the end, I had 15 cards, 3 ticket stubs, 2 play covers, 2 miscellaneous and 6 photos. My memory box is so much lighter. Even though I threw out a lot, there were still objects that hold meaning for me. Objects will always hold meaning to its owner because together they went through an experience that they don’t want to forget.

Being consistent with the first step in Marie Kondo’s The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up, I decided to organize my wardrobe. Initially, between my summer and winter belongings, I began with nearly 50 articles of clothing. This may seem like a significant amount, but when all the clothing was neatly tucked away, it was difficult to place a definitive number on how much clothing was in my room (reference figure 1). Once I removed all my clothes from my wardrobe, it was easier to understand how much clothing I had brought from home, proving Kondo’s point that for an individual who is serious about tidying up, they need to place all their belongings from one category – in this case, it was clothing – in one location before applying the joy test (reference figure 2).

I began with separating shirts into two piles: one discard pile and one save pile. I quickly realized that I had no emotional connection to shirts which had no text associated with them. For example, in figure 3, there is a photograph of a salmon colored shirt. While it might go well with other articles of clothing in my wardrobe, it did not flood my mind with wonderful memories like the myriad of New York Yankee shirts I own. As a result, I could not compel myself to discard even one New York Yankee shirt because each shirt is like a time capsule, containing wonderful memories which stretch over a period of four years. Once I finished filing through my pile of shirts, I ended up discarding eleven out of a total of nineteen (reference figures 4 and 5). Surprisingly, I did not feel any regret in placing so many shirts I had worn frequently for years in the discard pile; instead, I felt a sense of happiness knowing that the shirts I decided to keep held sentimental value.

The next sub-category of clothing I searched through was my collection of pants. I began applying the joy test to my gym shorts, and I noticed that I was discarding the gym shorts which did not have any pockets. To be honest, I do not know why I purchased these types of shorts in the first place. In addition to not providing any sense of excitement when holding each pair of shorts, they did not provide an essential function of housing my phone while listening to music and exercising. However, organizing my other pants – cargo shorts, jeans, and running pants – was a different story. In stark contrast to my gym shorts, there is little differentiation in color and design between my jeans and cargo shorts. They all fulfill the same purpose each day, so I wondered why I had purchased so many similar pairs of pants. I ended up keeping two pairs of jeans, two pairs of cargo shorts, and one pair of gym shorts, whereas I started with four pairs of jeans, six pairs of cargo shorts, and three pairs of gym shorts (reference figure 6). The pants I discarded I felt did not carry any experience with them. In other words, I did not have any distinct memories with the pants I removed from my wardrobe, so I did not have any feeling of regret. The pants I decided to keep held some sentimental value, bringing back fond memories of past work-related experiences, entertainment events with friends, and competitions in high school sports.

After reading The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up, I was skeptical of whether this method would work in an experiment with clothing. I initially thought it would be difficult to part ways with a lot of the clothing I had brought to school, but it turned out to be a simple task. Marie Kondo’s method for sorting through personal belongings also helped me in an indirect way: as an engineering student, I am always looking for new efficient methods to organize my personal belongings, and while I felt that I had a nice organizational system for my clothes where I was utilizing every inch of space in my wardrobe, by employing Marie Kondo’s method, I ended up creating more room in my wardrobe (reference figure 7). This brought joy to my face, knowing that I had kept the meaningful items in my life, while downsizing and removing the clutter which had taken up valuable space in my wardrobe. This lesson taught me that there is a different relationship and story with each item I save.

I should preface this by saying that I’m the kind of person who likes to have stuff around, and am skeptical at best about the “magic” of tidying up. Reading phrases like “… when we reduce what we own and essentially ‘detox’ our house, it has a detox effect on our bodies as well,” (193) makes my stomach want to detox my lunch, and gives the impression of a sales pitch for snake oil. At any rate, the KonMari method won’t kill me, so it’s worth trying at the very least.

Clothes are supposed to come first, but I decided to organize my books because they need it. I like to read and have saved all kinds of books, ranging from children’s stories and novels to textbooks and encyclopedias. My main bookcase has been overrun by other knick-knacks and lack of space, and the rest of the books are relegated to a crate by my dresser, also a jungle with no particular standard of organization. In total, I estimate there are about 150 books jammed in.

Starting out, I thought for a bit about what I wanted to gain from organizing. I decided that de-cluttering my bookshelves would make my room a better work environment, and a nicer place to spend time reading. That would make me happy, so I got to work tearing my shelves apart; every book on the ground, and everything else relocated to another place.

Tearing everything out of the shelves was quite fun, and I sorted everything into three piles since I don’t have magazines. On the left is my visual pile, with some photo collections, yearbooks and puzzles. At the top is practical, where my textbooks, dictionaries and manuals went. Everything else went to the right, and since I mostly read for pleasure that pile was the largest by far. I counted 183 books in total, and right away was struck by just how much I had. There are test prep manuals for exams I already took, some things I’ve never read, books I’ve grown out of, and books I’ve never read at all. I felt a little guilty about just how much was piled up, and since the practical pile was blocking my exit I had no choice but to move to the joy test.

Holding most of my books didn’t cause me to feel anything. A select few brought back personal memories that have little to do with the actual book. These include mazes I did with my dad as a kid, my yearbook and gifts from past mentors. I feel a special connection with these, making them mementos.

Going through the rest felt strange, and not just because I had to thank inanimate objects. It was easy to toss the few I hadn’t read, but I finished the vast majority, and enjoyed them too. Even still, I didn’t feel any joy holding most of them. They were good stories, I had fun reading them once, and I have no intention of ever picking them back up again.

My mother is the librarian at the local elementary school, so she took all the books in the black bag. I’m not sure what to do with the rest, but it does feel good knowing some of them will be read again.

There were a few books that made me feel something when I held them. These brought back images, quotes, and ideas, and reminded me why I love them. In particular, I found that the books I felt connected to relate to me personally. Calvin and Hobbes just makes me laugh, but others helped shape me as a person and introduced me to ideas that worked their way into my character. I like these books because they are a part of me, and looking at them really does make me happy. I only kept 39 books, so I decided to show off the covers with the extra space. Since I reference them all the time, I also put my most used engineering texts here.

For what it’s worth, I was probably too critical of the value of organization at first, and I really do like the look of my bookcase now. The exercise also helped me to understand that the books I’m attached to really stem either from memories of other people, or because I identify with them on a more personal level. My physical health has yet to improve, but my bookcase says something about me, and I feel joy looking at it.

Works Cited

Kondo, Marie. The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing. Translated by Kathy Hirano, Ten Speed Press, 2014.

After reading Marie Kondo’s “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up” I chose to go through my clothing putting the joy test to practice. I began with a full armoire of clothing, which held various items hanging and a drawer filled with tops. Additionally, I had a separate dresser drawer devoted mostly to pants. Overall, I would estimate I had nearly 100 articles of clothing. For the sake of space in my small dorm room I sorted through my clothing by sections, which for the most part lent itself to article type, (i.e., tops, pants, etc.)

First, I assessed the hanging items.

Hanging Items Before Joy Test

I found that it was easier for me to part with items that I could not readily see, specifically the items that were tucked into the corners rather than in the middle in my direct line of sight. I found that nearly half of the items I had hanging were not articles of clothing that brought me joy at all. I did not have trouble parting with them, but rather appreciated the times they made me happy to wear.

Hanging Items After Joy Test

What I found interesting after assessing before and after photos was they look fairly similar. This reinforces Kondo’s idea that things in our plain sight that become invisible to us almost do not even really exist to us. Upon further application of the joy test I found this to be even more apparent for my experience.

Upon inspecting the first drawer that was filled with mostly tops and sweaters, I found there were many items I more or less entirely forgot I owned- things that had been tucked away that I did not actively seek out or think of when I was getting dressed.

Extremely Messy and Cluttered “Tops” Drawer

This made me think of how Kondo describes these articles as dormant or unseen. I had an uncanny number of t-shirts obscurely folded tightly to fit in this drawer. After an application of the joy test, I found that half of the tops I owned did not bring me joy. There were many items that I was only keeping because I had sentimental value attached to them. I was able to choose one item of many that represented the same sentiment to me and gracefully part with the rest.

Half of the contents of the drawer brought me pleasure and those were the items I chose to keep. After this realization I became conflicted- I felt somewhat guilty for owning so many items that I did not truly value, but I also felt relieved that I was able to peacefully let go of these items that were not meant for me anymore.

“Tops” Drawer After Parting With Half of the Contents

The final drawer I sorted through housed my bottoms, mostly pants. This drawer was jam-packed with multiple pairs of similar jeans. When I was picking through each item applying the joy test I was wondering why I owned so many pairs of jeans that just had slight variances between each other. I was able to sort through them and conclude that about half brought me joy and half did not. I was not conflicted trying

“Bottoms” Drawer Before Joy Test

to choose which items brought me joy, I was actually very relieved that I could part with these items that were tucked deeply into my drawers, because when I had tried to get rid of clothing in the past I always fell victim to the voice in my head convincing me that I would perhaps want to wear this item again in the future. Like the other sections of my clothing, I decided to keep about half of these items.

Left Pile: Discard. Right Pile: Brought Me Joy, Keep

Overall, I chose to keep about half of the clothing I owned after applying the joy test. This experience was not difficult for me, but in the past trying to do this with clothing has been. One interesting thing I became aware of was for the most part clothing is not very difficult for me to part with.

However, when I was thinking about what items I wanted to sort through for this exercise, thinking about my more sentimental items, like my books, evoked a sick feeling in my stomach. I did not want to consider the possibility that I would have to choose between them. This gave me insight into my personal relationship with objects that I am more attached to items that evoke emotion or a sentimental meaning to me. I could choose to discard fairly easily of an item of clothing, but thinking about discarding something like a book or a letter that had a more personal and emotional meaning to me felt nearly impossible. I believe my attitudes about objects stemmed from my family who taught me to value sentiments and keep them close to my heart, it makes parting with items of sentimental value feel like I am losing a friend. Overall, I found this exercise to open my eyes about my relationships with objects and why I feel more attached to objects that have depth and meaning in my heart and mind.

Here is a hand fan showing all the signatures from various men that signed during the dances. Some of the repeat names are interesting in that it shows a probably acquaintance or friendship with our mystery woman.

The hand fan seen above dates back to around 1901/1902, based on the dates inscribed in pen and pencil beside the names. It is made of wooden sticks stacked on top of each other and fastened with a metal rod, loose enough so that they can fan out and spread out the papery material attached to the wooden sticks—which look like longer, thinner popsicle sticks but are probably much more classy. On each “web” and stick of the fan are written names on the paper of various men who attended Village Hall dances in 1901 and 1902. Some names are written on the wooden sticks above the paper. On the rounded edge of the fan, it says: “Dances held at the Village Hall, given by the social club of New Paltz.”

While the fan originally came from New Paltz, it somehow found it’s way to Wooster, Ohio. It was then donated back to Historic Huguenot Street by Cecil Leslie in 2010, who found it in his possession (Graham). Unfortunately, we do not know the name of the woman who owned this fan, but the names that adorn it are more than ordinary. Some of the wealthiest, most famous names of historic New Paltz are written here; the last names Hasbrouck, Deyo, Lefevre, and Elting, among others, are a marker of this fan’s importance and its role in history.

When our unnamed woman entered the Village Hall of New Paltz in 1901, she would have brought with her this fan. The building into which she entered, now the Goodwill Church, formerly Barnaby’s Steakhouse, acted as a meeting place for New Paltz’s society in the early 1900’s.

The building itself is a physical manifestation of the history of New Paltz; one can see just by the various manifestations of its space all the evolution of New Paltz that has happened over the last 116 years. Yet what it interesting about this object is not the building that it is tied to, but the essences of the people who touched it that it preserves.

This hand fan was used by a nameless woman from 1901-1902. Over a hundred years old, we will probably never know the name of the woman that carried it. What we do know, however, is that this fan was used to mediate a courtship dancing ritual. To make sure every women who attended these dance parties at the Village Hall had a partner, they would use these fans. The woman would allow the man to inscribe his name on the fan, plus the type of dance, and sometimes the date they danced. When asked to dance, if she wanted to accept she touched the fan to her right cheek. One can imagine in these rituals (where just a simple “yes, thank you” would do) a kind of elaborately Pride-and-Prejudice-esque ball (the 2005 version).  

Unfortunately, our Elizabeth is lost to us forever. What we do have is our Darcys—though perhaps some of them were Mr. Collinses. Among the names on the fan are some of New Paltz’s famous gentlemen: Walter, Morris, and Bruyn Hasbrouck, A.P. Lefevre, Victor Deyo, Mr. Eltin, Phillip Dubois, and Pierre Deyo. These names populate the streets and buildings of New Paltz, our version here of royalty. Among these is Easton von Wagernen, who would not be quite old enough at this time to have served, but whose father by the same name served in the Civil War for the Union. Many of these names appear multiple times, indicating a close relationship with some of these men, a family connection, or perhaps even indicating that our woman had a stalker or two. The exact connections are hard—perhaps impossible—to parse out; the probability that the fan belongs to one of their wives is high.

It is ironic at best, indicative of women’s lives at worse, that the artifact of a woman survives, yet she continues on in memory nameless. What survives are the man that led her around the ballroom. She held this fan throughout 49 dances, but we know nothing about her except that she liked to dance.

We do know, however, that this is not an isolated object; this particular fan comes from a long tradition, dating back to Egypt, 4,000 years ago (“A Brief History”). Hand fans have been used for many different purposes, a sort of multi-use tool for women across ages and cultures. It seems to be one of the most ubiquitous female objects in the world, and yet I’m sure even the innate feminine quality of the fan could be questioned, made more complex.

The origin of the fan is Eastern, becoming a European trade good around the sixteenth century (“A Brief History”). Of course, because of the exotic nature of the object, the fan was considered a marker of class status, as well as monetary wealth. As many “exotic” objects were, the fan was appropriated into the European lifestyle. However, it became so common throughout history that there are only faint signs in today’s culture that point back to its origins, the movie Mulan being one of them. Dance fans in particular came with a hook that attached to the woman’s dress and also was able to hold a pencil, so that the man had everything he needed to sign and dance: the woman, the fan, and the pencil (“A Brief History”).

This particular fan is somewhat a mystery to us, and will always be that way. It is unlikely anyone will be able to figure out who which woman the fan belonged to without major detective work. But we do know some other, maybe just as important things. One, that New Paltz in the early 1900s was very fashionable. Given that fans were generally a sign of status and money. We know for sure that these dances were fashionable; the remnants of the families who attended still linger in New Paltz today on street signs and building names. This object, above us, is a reminder that even in 1901, people in New Paltz were still having fun and dancing. Perhaps it is a reminder to us that we should never stop dancing, or forget how to.

Works Cited

Graham, Katie. “Dancing Queen.” Object of the Week. Historic Huguenot Street, 6 Aug. 2014, https://hhscollections.wordpress.com/2014/08/06/dancing-queen/. Accessed 15 May 2017.

“Online History – A Brief History of the Hand Fan.” Purdue University, https://web.ics.purdue.edu/~salvo/@SEA/exhibit/history.asp#nogo. Accessed 15 May 2017.

My final blog post for this semester is about my favorite part of SUNY New Paltz: my sorority, Alpha Kappa Phi.  Whether we realize it or not, objects are a huge aspect of who we are and how we represent ourselves to others.  Through objects, my sorority has developed its own, unique identity and has been able to pass down traditions for generations.  In examining a handful of sorority objects, I hope to reveal our history and some of our most important traditions, both the old and the new.

The Spoon Pin

I’ll begin with the blog post that started it all: the spoon pin. When I officially became a member of Alpha Kappa Phi in the Fall of 2015, I went to Florida for Winter break.  There, my grandmother approached me with this pin. She told me it was her sister pin while she was an active sister (meaning while she was in the sorority at New Paltz).  It’s shaped like a spoon, is approximately one inch tall, and has our sorority crest at the top of the handle.  On the back is the needle used to pin the spoon onto whatever clothing a sister is wearing.  The pin is something you receive upon becoming an official member of a Greek organization.  When I became a member of Alpha Kappa Phi, I received my own sister pin: simply the Greek letters ΑΚΦ small and in gold.  I was so proud to hold it, to have my first true letters. The pin, to me, represents that I am part of something bigger than myself. The spoon pin also represents something similar; you are truly a part of the organization. However, when I asked my grandmother why it was in the shape of a spoon, she told me it was to represent hospitality.  Apparently, sororities used their houses to help those who may have needed a place to stay. They were to always be charitable and to give back to the community.

Spoon Pin with Crest

What I found through my original blog post is how traditions both change and remain the same over time. While we don’t use the spoon pin anymore, we still believe in community service and charity. Any time Relay for Life or some other charitable organization comes to the area, we are there to support the cause, and we are always raising money for our philanthropies.  While the physical object may have changed, its meaning has not.

Link to original blog post: https://npobjects.wordpress.com/2017/02/17/not-a-spoon-you-eat-with/

Tikis

Standard tiki for ΑΚΦ

The objects you see here are called tikis.  A tiki for a Greek organization is usually a wooden block of letters on a long string that you can wear as a necklace. Alpha Kappa Phi has four sorority colors, navy blue, robin’s egg blue, white, and gold, and our symbol is the anchor. The style of tiki we use incorporates all of these representations, depicted in the image on the left.  The tiki below belongs to a member of Tau Kappa Epsilon, and it looks quite different from Alpha Kappa Phi’s tiki. It is black in the shape of a rectangle, with the Greek letters ΤΚΕ going vertically downwards.  On the top of the tiki are the Greek letters ΒΑ, and the bottom displays the number 283.  The whole tiki is wood and is custom for the person who owns it.

ΤΚΕ Tiki

Functionally, the tiki is very convenient. For us, whenever we are partaking in some event, we are required to show up in letters to represent the organization.  If you forget to wear a lettered T-shirt that day (it happens), having a tiki in your bag is a really easy way to just put on letters for the moment. They essentially just serve as another form of letters.  The ΤΚΕ tiki on the right also can serve as letters, however each tiki is unique to each person.  For this one, the letters ΒΑ stand for “Beta Alpha,” which is this person’s pledge class.  A pledge class is a group of people who work together while in the process of becoming a new member.  His pledge class or group is called the Beta Alpha class.  Someone in a different pledge class would not and could not have BA on his tiki. The number 283 means that he was the 283rd brother to be initiated into Tau Kappa Epsilon’s chapter at New Paltz, the Sigma Nu chapter.  Each part of the tiki represents varying levels of the organization, from the individual all the way to the organization as a whole. This one object connects him to all of these varying levels. Our tiki is slightly less elaborate, however what both tikis do is connect the individual to the organization.

A Mug

Side 1 with crest

Side 2 with name

This is a mug. More specifically, it’s a sorority beer mug.  That crest on there is our crest. The words printed on it say “Alpha Kappa Phi,” “State University of New York, New Paltz,” “Julie” (my grandmother’s name) and “1954.”  There’s no denying that this beer mug is associated with New Paltz and Alpha Kappa Phi.  Underneath the mug “Nassau China Trenton NJ” is inscribed into the material, perhaps the locations it was made.

As my grandmother showed me this mug, she told me that she, her sisters and other members of Greek Life would go to the bars after classes with their mugs and use them instead of the glasses at the bars. At first I didn’t think much of this story, until later when I realized that an activity like that would never be permissible now.  Ever since I’ve become a member of this organization, alumnae have drilled into me this message: “We are a sorority but we are also a business.” We always strive to maintain professionalism, and that means absolutely NO drinking in any attire that has letters. If I did something illegal or silly with having “Alpha Kappa Phi” all over my shirt, the organization will look bad and unprofessional.  However, clearly this issue didn’t occur to my grandmother or any of the other active sisters in the 1950s. It’s interesting to see how attitudes about professionalism and drinking have changed throughout the past sixty or so years.

Our Song Book

The object here is my grandmother’s song book, one of the original books.  It’s light blue, our color, and the text says, “Alpha Kappa Phi presents Agonian Melodies.” It also has a large anchor (our symbol) with a rose in the center (our flower) along with our Greek letters.

The song book represents something unique about Alpha Kappa Phi: we are a serenading sorority.  Traditionally, Alpha Kappa Phi would meet up with other organizations and sing to them. I believe that other organizations, including fraternities, would do the same.  We have a position called the Song Leader and her job is to lead the women in the songs as well as to create harmonies.  When my grandmother was active, the Song Leader and the sorority would create whole new songs, usually to preexisting tunes (for example, one song is sung to the tune of “Yankee Doodle”). While we don’t always sing every single song anymore, it is still a requirement for all new sisters to learn some of the songs, particularly the important ones.  Some of the lyrics and melodies have changed over the years as well, but these songs have been passed down for at least 80 years.  This is my absolute favorite part of my sorority; I have never seen another organization do something like this, and this is what I think sets us apart from some other organizations.

A Banner

This banner is one that we often use for tabling events, such as Meet the Greeks or the club and involvement fair.  It’s approximately six feet tall and made of felt with some lace trims.  It features our Greek letters and our full sorority name along with our founding year and a detailed crest. Not visible in the photo are the words “Alpha Kappa Phi” directly above our Greek letters.

There are groupings of names beginning with a heading painted all over the banner, the first one on the left side being the 65th Treasure along with six names.  These names and headings are the reason I chose to use this object.  A “treasure” is analogous to what other organizations call “new member classes” or “pledge classes,” which I briefly explained in the paragraph on tikis. We call them “treasures” because we consider each group of new members a treasure to the organization (cheesy, maybe, but after seeing three treasures cross in my time at New Paltz I must wholeheartedly agree that each group has been a treasure to us). What I think this banner represents about us is not just the fact that it uses all of our colors and depicts our crest so perfectly, but that it also demonstrates a piece of our history that other objects perhaps don’t.  The names on the banner represent the people who not only made this object but also made this organization. A sorority can’t function without people.  Every single person who spent their college years in Alpha Kappa Phi has contributed to who we are now.  We do our best to represent ourselves through objects, but by far the best way to do so is through the amazing individuals who are my sisters.

Letters

The last set of objects I’m using for this project are one of the best parts of being in any Greek organization: custom letters.  The picture on the left is a t-shirt all of us active sisters recently purchased. It’s a simple, black t-shirt with “Alpha Kappa Phi” printed in glitter-gold.  Underneath that is a picture of New York State, also in glitter-gold.  The New York State picture not only looks cute stylistically but also represents our unique tie to New York since we are only located here.

The set of pictures above are of the sorority jacket.  The color is always navy blue and the back always has 6-inch Greek letters ΑΚΦ in gold with “Agonian Sorority Inc.” written in script beneath them.  The left sleeve always says “Κ chapter” (“Kappa chapter”).  The right sleeve always has the sister’s treasure and semester crossed and the front always has her pledge name written in script.  A pledge name is the name you recieve from your big sister, chosen because the meaning represents you in some way.

The jacket is important and traditional in that every sister, including almost all of the alumnae who attended New Paltz after 1996, has this jacket custom-made for her.  While owning the jacket isn’t a requirement for membership, it is simply a tradition – albeit a new one – that unifies us.  The t-shirt is not tradition but still serves a similar purpose. We recently decided to all buy the same shirt to wear to community service events, in black because it doesn’t show dirt.  All of us active sisters currently have this shirt, and it is one more thing to bind us all together for something we all care about: giving back to the community.  I don’t expect this shirt to become akin to the jacket in terms of traditions.  However, both of them unify each of us to the bigger picture.

To wrap up this long blog post, I want to end with this concept of tradition.  What has become clear to me through examining all of these objects is that each of them at one point were representative of a tradition in Alpha Kappa Phi.  Each object was replicated and passed down to the next generation of sisters, and through these objects the organization became more and more defined.  But as objects have changed over the years, so have traditions. My grandmother and other alumnae who graduated before the 1970s have no idea what a “treasure” is; that title for a pledge class was created in the 1980s and 1990s.  My sister pin looks much different from the 1950s sister pin.  However, they both have the same meaning; I can wear either interchangeably, and both still represent my relationship to the sorority.  What I have found, then, is that just because an aspect of a tradition changes, or even a tradition dies out entirely, that doesn’t mean that the organization as a whole changes. Each Greek organization has a core “essence” about it that makes it unique.  These objects that I’ve examined closely are all attempts at representing the essence of Alpha Kappa Phi, and as long as we still have members, that will never change.

Alpha Kappa Phi, 1954 composite. Grandma Julie is circled in light blue.

An artist’s creative space informs their process greatly. (Here, “artist” refers to anyone who works in visual, literary, culinary, or performing arts, or any similar expressive craft.) Michel de Montaigne, the highly influential French essayist, provided an example of this in action. Montaigne had quotes from classical writers and philosophers, as well as from the Bible, painted onto wooden beams in his library’s ceiling, so that when he needed inspiration, all he had to do was observe the room around him (see A. A. Balkema’s Les Inscriptions dans la bibliothèque de Montaigne).

This final project for The Materials of History, Thought, and Art presents a collection of the creative spaces of students and one professor at SUNY New Paltz. They were asked to describe and reflect on their spaces and their creative processes within their spaces. In each artist’s section of this project, their space is represented in two ways: as a collage and through a collection of photographs. The collages, made up of keywords from the artists’ interviews, convey how they perceive and experience working in their own spaces. The photographs of their spaces are unedited and unpolished, the intention being to reflect how creativity is rarely neat and clean, as well as to emphasize that disorder (present in some form in the majority of these spaces) is valuable. In this same vein, Balkema describes Montaigne’s space as ever-changing: from time to time Montaigne had quotes switched out for others—all part of the constant but messy evolution of the artist’s space that, in the end, benefits their creative process (Balkema 8).

William Rodriguez
Sculptor

Will’s studio space in the Fine Arts Building

Leighann Martone
Jeweler/Painter

Leighann’s workspace in her house

Nancy Saklad
Actor/Professor

Professor Saklad’s preferred studio in Parker Theatre, Parker 103

Rachel Rienecker
Costume Designer

The costume shop in Parker Theatre serves as Rachel’s creative space

Jessica Schrüfer
Painter

The half of Jessica’s living room dedicated to art

Yoshi Abe
Theater Designer

Together, the paint and scene shops in College Theatre make up Yoshi’s creative space

Jennilee Vasquez
Graphic Artist

Jennilee’s dorm room

Bea Vera
Painter

Bea’s painting studio in the Smiley Art Building

For my analog experience, I decided to do a one-week experiment: a friend would function as my personal alarm clock. I chose one of my staff members and friend, Jennifer, to wake me up every day at 8:30am by knocking on my door. Jenn was the perfect candidate because she had 9:30 classes every day and would wake up at 8:15 to get ready and grab breakfast before class. I figured she would not mind manually waking me up since we live in the same residence hall. At first, I thought the experiment would go smoothly because as someone who suffers from chronic insomnia I assumed that I would have no trouble waking up at all.

With this experience, I wanted to continue my tradition of writing about alarm clocks and see where it would take me, and how it would change my perception of time. The first 2-3 days of the experiment was almost comical. On the first day, when Jenn knocked on my door I woke up and looked at the time on my phone and immediately decided to fall back asleep because I assumed it was a resident knocking on my door. I am a resident assistant in my hall so I always have residents knocking on my door. Some days I ignore them because I either get lazy or too tired. You can imagine my surprise when after an hour of sleep, I woke up in complete horror because I had completely failed my experiment on the first day. Not only was I disappointed but I was also shocked. I had realized that my self-reliance and self-confidence about being a morning person was completely based on the fact that my phone was my savior. Even though I still have the alarm clock my father gave me years ago, using my phone as an alarm clock had become instinctual because hitting the snooze button did not require me to leave my bed. Essentially, my phone had turned me into a completely lazy and dependent person.

The following days were much better, and to my surprise quite fun. Once Jenn knocked on my door, I would wake up and open the door to let her know that I was awake. Because I was forced to leave my bed to answer the door, I lost interest in using my phone and instead got my day started right away. In those days, I had an epiphany of sorts. I had come to realize that because I did not spend a lot of time on my phone right after waking up, my days started much earlier and felt more productive. I felt a boost in confidence because I would get work done and still have enough time to grab breakfast and go to class feeling prepared. What was meant to be an experiment had now turned into a life changing experience. While I have always known that our perception of time is partly psychological, I never really understood or appreciated this fact until after I finished this experiment. The saying “time flies” became a myth during this experiment because time did not seem to fly, time felt stable and under my control. This was a completely new experience because after three years of being in college, time always seemed to be against me. Assignments and deadlines would always seem to creep up on me and everything felt out of my control. This assignment made me realize that time is what we make of it and how we decide to use it has the ability to change how we go about our days and ultimately make us reassess our priorities.

Caption

The object I chose to research and analyze for our Historic Huguenot project is a quilt made by Sarah M Lefevre (11/12/1825 – 3/4/1902). Sarah was married to Joseph Hasbrouck, a notable figure of the time in New Paltz. Both decorative and functional, the quilt can be seen as both a piece of art and a bed covering.  

Object Description

Object description: The quilt has a simple and cohesive pattern, laid out horizontally and vertically, consisting of a white background with pink and green design. There are feathered stars alternating with diagonally crossing oak leaf pieces making up the pattern that spans the entirety of the quilt. In the center of each feathered star there is also an additional 6-pointed star applique. The quilt’s backing is is made of white muslin, white seams, and a cotton backing. The quilt’s front is made of cotton; pink, green, and beige. The border surrounding the quilt is single, with butted corners. On the very end of the front “Sarah M Lefevre 1847” is appliqued in pink. All hand sewn and stitched.

The Fascinating History of Turkey Red

After looking into the unique history of quilting, and how the art played an important role in the lives of 19th Century people, I grew interested in the industries surrounding quilting and textiles, specifically regarding how different textiles were valued and used over others. I researched further into Sarah’s quilt and discovered that many of the colors she used were actually considered very popular at the time, specifically the greens. I also discovered that the pink fabrics she used were at one time originally red, specifically “turkey reds”, and were part of a very complex system of old/new world economics.

“Turkey red” was a very distinguished and vibrant color of red that was very popular in Britain during the 18th and 19th Centuries. The color was used in many different textiles to add vibrancy and opulence to designs, and proliferated quickly through the textile industry, especially in Scotland. Popularized originally as a color-fast red dye that could withstand frequent washing and sunlight, Turkey Red was a long-standing ambition of dyers in eighteenth-century Britain. Coined “Turkey Red” because it originated from the Levant region of the Middle East (the Red Sea). The color’s original dying process, which was time-consuming and expensive, was based on the extraction of alizarin from the madder root, which was then fixed to fiber using oil and alum, as well as a number of other ingredients such as sheep excrement, bull blood, and urine. Because of its high-quality, in conjunction with its arduous and time-consuming processing, the color became extremely valuable and sought after, and subsequently caused a competitive and aggressive industry to emerge, all surrounding one simple shade of red(Tuckett, Nenadic, 2017).

According to the National Museum of Scotland, from their exhibition “Turkey Red: A Study in Scarlet”, The Turkey red dyeing and printing industry in Scotland was concentrated in the Vale of Leven, Dunbartonshire, and was brought to Scotland in 1785 by a Frenchman named Pierre Jacques Papillon(Tuckett, Nenadic, 2017).   Papillon was hired by David Dale and George Macintosh, both prominent businessmen of Glasgow, and worked together with other manufacturers who saw the potential profitability of Turkey red. The color soon popularized, and a was printed for fabrics made for clothing and furnishings and, unlike tartan, another textile which was popular among Scots, many of the Turkey red fabrics were intended for foreign markets such as India, China, the West Indies, and North America. The Scottish firms at the forefront of the industry went to great lengths in ensuring their designs would be catered to foreign markets. They wrote regularly to agents in different countries and stuck to designs they knew were popular. For example, the “Peacock” was a pattern or motif made of Turkey Red which was popular throughout the nineteenth century and was often produced for saris and shawls for the Indian market(Tuckett, Nenadic, 2017).

As markets became more and more competitive, synthetic versions of Turkey Red began emerging to keep up with high demand; and all for lower prices. However, instead of remaining bright and vibrant over time as the Turkey Red was widely known for, these synthetic versions would turn a brown/pink color as they would age. This brown/pink is what we can see in the Sarah Lefevre Quilt, and delineates the demand and prestige of Turkey Red in the 19thy Century, as a sign of wealth and indulgence. Even though at that time, many of the people who must have seen Sarah’s quilt must have thought the Turkey Red was real. But now that some time has past, and the color has faded, we can tell now that it was fake.

Date of Creation Narrative

Tying the quilt back into the story of New Paltz, it’s fitting to understand its creator, Sarah Lefevre, in a wider context. Sarah was born on November 12th 1825 and died March 4th 1902 at 76 years old of heart failure (Hasbrouck, 2012). Sarah was married to Joseph Hasbrouck, a superintendent and Elder in the New Paltz community, making them very wealthy. They had 4 children, Henrietta, Ann, Elizabeth, and one unnamed who died at birth. Sarah and her husband Joseph were landowners west of Walden, Orange County, and played an influential role in their community. After her husband died in 1895, Sarah moved in with her son Philip Hasbrouck, where she lived until her death.

It can thus be inferred that because of their wealth and status, the Sarah Lefevre must have had a lot of time on her hands. Because quilting was a large and emerging leisurely activity, it must have been something she practiced. With textiles imported to three major commercial centers in America, mainly New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, it is possible that Sarah Lefevre would most likely have come into contact with her Turkey Red from one of these areas, and included them in her quilting designs. As imports from the Old World grew steadily over the course of the 17th and 18th Centuries, the distribution of textiles in New England became increasingly spread out. Even more so, during the 19th Century, the “mechanization” of manufacturing made textile prices deflate, and subsequently more readily accessible and cheaper in America (Shammas, 1994). Sarah Lefevre must have used this to her advantage, and purchased her textiles to use for quilting during deflation. During this time, quilting also became a leisurely activity, growing as a common household hobby for women (Jirousek, 1995). Rather than simply making quilts for pure function, women would make them for fun, and typically incorporate personal touches like their names and dates onto their pieces. This is evident with Sarah’s quilt, which can thus be seen as a hobby piece or something of leisure.

Course Connection

Relating back to our class and much of what I have written about thus far regarding my own textiles and Oxford shirts; image, prestige, and ostentation played a large role in the popularization and proliferation of Turkey Red. As I have written previously about my own predilections to well known brands and quality textiles, Turkey Red found itself in the hands of many people because of its reputation, rarity, and prestige. Sarah Lefevre and other wealthy women of her time must have known this, and incorporated it into their quilting patterns. I find it interesting to think about how Sarah was not immune to our seemingly 21st Century craze of branded goods, elucidating a connecting between our time and hers.

References

Yule, Graeme. “Turkey Red: A Study in Scarlet” National Museum. Edinburgh, Scotland. June 11, 2017. Retrieved from http://blog.nms.ac.uk/2012/06/22/turkey-red-a-study-in-scarlet/

Tuckett, Sally. Nenadic, Stana. “Colouring the Nation: ‘Turkey Red’ and Other Decorative Textiles in Scotland’s Culture and Global Impact, 1800 to Present”. National Museum. Edinburgh, Scotland. 2017. Retrieved from  https://colouringthenation.wordpress.com/

Tuckett, Sally. Nenadic, Stana. “Turkey Red and the Vale of Leven” National Museum. Edinburgh, Scotland. 2017. Retrieved from https://colouringthenation.wordpress.com/turkey-red-in-scotland/

Jirousek, Charlotte. “Art, Design, and Visual Thinking: Textile Materials and Technologies.” Cornell University TXA. 1995. Retrieved from http://char.txa.cornell.edu/ppeamericatex.htm

Shammas, Carole. “The Decline of Textile Prices in England and British America Prior to Industrialization.” The Economic History Review, vol. 47, no. 3, 1994, pp. 483–507.  Retrieved from www.jstor.org/stable/2597590

Hasbrouck, Donna. Find a Grave Memorial Obituaries: Sarah Maria Lefevre Hasbrouck. April, 27th 2012. www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=89207489