A Brief And Digestible Inquiry On Archiving

Milan-Treviso train. Packing the suitcase.

Carefully folding and stacking almost all of my wardrobe– socks, underwear, t-shirts, trousers, hoodies. Books on the top.

Shoes go into the dust-coloured tote bags. Yes, they are from Rick Owens.

Laptop, camera, papers, agenda, and pencil case in the backpack; together with a brown box in which I keep and guard dozens and dozens of letters, postcards, stickers, polaroids. Everything in its own place.

Centrale’s rush. The suitcase’s weight is fucking ridiculous: how was I even able to enclose half of my bedroom in there? I feel like a snail that travels through a bleed of grass with its precious little house.

My past is with me, and the train is about to leave.

My past is an archive– whatever it collects, it fascinates me.

Juxtaposed Power by Mike and Maaike

Archives. Their silent and concrete proof of order as well as their intense smell of antique and lost peace carry us – as spectators – in an out-of-space refuge. Whenever you enter a bookshop or a library, most of time you are just looking for a secure cave far away from the external noisy hecticness. Reality speed and changeability can be unbearable; present and future calling can be overwhelming burdens; gusts of information, photographs, videos, Instagram stories, posts, group projects messages hit us with no mercy.

 I love when, in Mac Miller’s song “Good News”, he asks “Can I get a break?”. Of course, you can. You deserve it, you deserve to escape from reality. While walking alongside those reassuring shelves, or touching the cellophane of old vinyl covers, time somehow seems to be under your will; issues magically seem to be under control. The powerful calm of archives, regardless of their nature or features, leads us to fly into more genuine and patient dimensions. We forget about reality. How is this even possible?

Alessandro, the head of the B&A marketing team, once told me that I have a particular relationship with the past. I agree with him. Even though all human beings keep pending accounts with the past, their lived lives are one of the most stable and timeless certainties that individuals have. Past has already been written. It’s certain because it’s over. That is why we address and remember what we lived: to find a solid floor where to start, something steady to believe in.

Human past is sleeping into archives, and the tender laziness of the insiders who are taking care of them completes the painting. The dormant magnitude of contents reminds us – as protagonists – to give life and sense back to the past, to every written word, every recorded sound, every picture, every lived life. The charm lies in the myriad of thinkable thoughts, so that the activity of archiving becomes normal and daily to bridge the past with the present, and vice versa.

Hence, humans often attempt to make order among chaos, through archiving, collecting, listing, curating, moodboarding. According to Swiss art curator and artistic director of Serpentine Galleries, Hans Ulrich Obrist:

“the impulse of archiving and of collecting is perhaps also believing that there is a future, believing that we are not going to be an extinct species”

When archiving, there is a proneness towards eternity, tension towards immortality, willingness to survive to the oblivion and to leave a somewhat tidy memory of us. This is what Paul Klee did while he was listing out all his artworks: he realized a structured archive in which he registered and numbered every single piece of art (indeed, nowadays it’s very easy to find out Klee’s replicas). 

As aforementioned, we are victims of sudden bombing of mainly digital contents throughout the day. The speed with which we come up against news and insights is impressive. Thus, while saving posts on Instagram, amassing songs on Spotify playlists, and listing movies on Mubi, GenZ is trying to select something meaningful to preserve the present to quickly review it in the future, as archives guard the past for the present.

The phenomena and the spreading of moodboards – curated selections of images, pictures, items, and fragments of clips that are related to each other through a common theme or perspective or taste – is the confirming evidence of the importance of archives.

 I learnt the art of archiving and of taking care about the past from my grandfather. I tenderly remember when, as a child, I asked him why he was keeping the old rusty and bent vines and nails in his garage drawers. He replied that maybe they would be useful again in the future. If something is broken, it doesn’t mean you cannot fix or adapt for other needs. After facing the Second World War and the Italian Post War crisis, how to blame him.

The train arrives at Mestre station. I’m feeling lighter. The first step to deal with the past is to make it clearer and more well-organized.

I’m waiting for the next train to Treviso. Past never smelled so good.