Winter has a way of turning familiar neighborhoods into entirely different places.
A sled represents that transformation. A hill that was normally walked past suddenly became a destination. Snow-covered streets became racetracks. A simple wooden or metal sled could provide hours of competition, adventure, and freedom.
For many Americans, winter childhood was measured in sled runs, frozen fingers, wet clothes, and the question of who could make it farther down the hill.
That’s American Material Memory: an ordinary manufactured object preserving an entire season of childhood.
From the Artist:
This is sled No.4 in a series of 15 sleds I’ve challenged myself to draw over this coming year.
Each has its own amazing patina and funky retro graphics, and each brings back such amazing winter memories as a kid growing up in the little town of Algonac, Michigan, on the St. Clair River.
I actually shiver from remembering the cold we’d suffer though for an afternoon of fun in the snow. Now way I could do that today.
Winter has a way of turning familiar neighborhoods into entirely different places.
A sled represents that transformation. A hill that was normally walked past suddenly became a destination. Snow-covered streets became racetracks. A simple wooden or metal sled could provide hours of competition, adventure, and freedom.
For many Americans, winter childhood was measured in sled runs, frozen fingers, wet clothes, and the question of who could make it farther down the hill.
That’s American Material Memory: an ordinary manufactured object preserving an entire season of childhood.
From the Artist:
This is sled No.4 in a series of 15 sleds I’ve challenged myself to draw over this coming year.
Each has its own amazing patina and funky retro graphics, and each brings back such amazing winter memories as a kid growing up in the little town of Algonac, Michigan, on the St. Clair River.
I actually shiver from remembering the cold we’d suffer though for an afternoon of fun in the snow. Now way I could do that today.