The Secret Life of Chairs
Artist + Project Statement
When I look at chairs, I’m fascinated by how they all perform the same function, and yet they tell so much about a place and the people who create them. But even still, a chair doesn’t always get to live in its intended environment; I found so many chairs at the end of their lives on street curbs and secondhand stores. It makes me wonder, how did this chair end up here? What is the secret life of chairs like?
In my photos, I hope to tell a story through one moment. In each instance, I’ve found a chair with a story; sometimes, a chair more easily makes me wonder what it was enduring days or even years before. Did this chair have a good life, or a bad one? Is it currently where it should “belong”?
Through it all, I’ve worked with the underlying truth that chairs reflect people in certain ways. I hope that when you see each photo, you’ll subconsciously imagine a place from your past or a person you’ve met whose style and presence echoes the design and form of the chair. When I made each photograph, I consciously chose to get “eye-level” with the chair as though it were a talking head in a documentary about itself. In doing that, each image felt more personal and intimate than simple product photography, despite how much they may overlap in final output.
Chairs tell us about time and place. It’s important to look at things that so easily fly under our daily radar, and chairs are exactly something like that. So if I have some advice for you after seeing these photos, it’s not simply to “smell the roses.” Rather, I’d like to invite you to have a seat.
Final Edits
Chair Autobiographies
“I am waiting. I didn’t expect to be here. People sit on me, laughing, before they leave me. Life was easier years ago. I’d kick back everyday in the afternoon, watching TV during dinnertime. Then they’d fall asleep on me, and we’d start all over the next day.”
“I’m better than this. I feel like I’ve been wasted. Like I’m no better than that trashy bedbug-infested mattress, Larry. But I’m healthy. I’m clean and cushy. But I guess that’s not valuable enough anymore. Maybe I am as good as trash, too.”
“We’re a good pair, we get along most of the time. We love to chat. It’s nice to be surrounded by intellectuals, too. None of that putrid pop music. Just the subtle, elegant kind. It’s quite refreshing to have the sunshine and lobby tunes to carry you through the day.”
“It’s Day 73. I can’t feel my legs. Just the gravel and dirt that washes over me amidst all the chaos around me. Who left me here to die? I’m weak. I can’t remember my own name.”
“You don’t survive like us without a few crazy stories. I remember my training days; they were absolutely brutal—no warning, just unnatural screaming and strange liquids.”
“Yeah, but most days it isn’t so bad, huh? Sometimes we get the morning off, and it slows down in the cold season. Most people seem to prefer the mobiles.”
“Sometimes I wish I had wheels, too. Then maybe I could hide in the bushes. I’ve seen too much.”
“Life is pretty chillin’, I’d say. Everyday’s a vacation.”
“It’s important to find your purpose in life. My calling was to help people. You’ve got no idea how many people lay on me, anguished in pain. But no matter what, they’ve always been glad to see me. It’s the sometimes silent release on their face, like the pain is almost over. I consider myself lucky; not many people get to be so closely involved in helping people to feel better like that.”
Visual Inspiration
