An old fishing lure carries the fingerprints of another era.
Its materials, shape, finish, and design reflect a time when fishing equipment was built for practical use rather than simply displayed as a collectible.
But objects like this acquire a second life through memory.
For someone who grew up fishing, the lure can evoke the water, the tackle box, the boat, the shoreline, and the anticipation that came before every cast. American Material Memory gives those seemingly ordinary objects another purpose: preserving the experiences that surrounded them.
From the Artist:
Growing up in Algonac, Michigan, we lived on the St. Clair River with a dock that ran 150 feet out from our front yard.
We'd swim in the summer, skate in the winter, and fish every chance we could from this dock. This lure is one of those “things” I remember so vividly from that childhood. The peacefulness of fishing. Sometimes with my Dad. More times than not by myself.
My Dad's Dad gave this lure to him and he in turn gave it to me. I have no idea where it ever ended up, who has it now, or if it's even still in the family.
Pretty much all of my things sort of disappeared when I moved away to finish college in California.
An old fishing lure carries the fingerprints of another era.
Its materials, shape, finish, and design reflect a time when fishing equipment was built for practical use rather than simply displayed as a collectible.
But objects like this acquire a second life through memory.
For someone who grew up fishing, the lure can evoke the water, the tackle box, the boat, the shoreline, and the anticipation that came before every cast. American Material Memory gives those seemingly ordinary objects another purpose: preserving the experiences that surrounded them.
From the Artist:
Growing up in Algonac, Michigan, we lived on the St. Clair River with a dock that ran 150 feet out from our front yard.
We'd swim in the summer, skate in the winter, and fish every chance we could from this dock. This lure is one of those “things” I remember so vividly from that childhood. The peacefulness of fishing. Sometimes with my Dad. More times than not by myself.
My Dad's Dad gave this lure to him and he in turn gave it to me. I have no idea where it ever ended up, who has it now, or if it's even still in the family.
Pretty much all of my things sort of disappeared when I moved away to finish college in California.
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