Bubble gum belongs to one of the most universal experiences of American childhood: buying a little something simply because you could.
The bright packaging, familiar flavor, and ritual of chewing and blowing bubbles made Dubble Bubble part of everyday life for generations.
American Material Memory often begins with something this simple. A piece of gum may have cost almost nothing, but it could be purchased with allowance money, shared with a friend, enjoyed after school, or associated with a particular game or place.
The object was temporary. The memory wasn’t.
From the Artist:
I chewed a ton of Dubble Bubble when I played for the Dodgers in Algonac Little League.
One memory has nothing to do with gum. Brian Wilson robbed me of what would have been my first home run by catching the ball at the centerfield fence.
That weekend, during practice, the coach told me to lean into the pitch instead of backing away. His next pitch hit me square in the eye.
He laughed and said, “I didn't say you couldn't duck.”
Maybe that's why I draw these ordinary things.
You start with a piece of gum and somehow end up standing on a Little League field again.
Bubble gum belongs to one of the most universal experiences of American childhood: buying a little something simply because you could.
The bright packaging, familiar flavor, and ritual of chewing and blowing bubbles made Dubble Bubble part of everyday life for generations.
American Material Memory often begins with something this simple. A piece of gum may have cost almost nothing, but it could be purchased with allowance money, shared with a friend, enjoyed after school, or associated with a particular game or place.
The object was temporary. The memory wasn’t.
From the Artist:
I chewed a ton of Dubble Bubble when I played for the Dodgers in Algonac Little League.
One memory has nothing to do with gum. Brian Wilson robbed me of what would have been my first home run by catching the ball at the centerfield fence.
That weekend, during practice, the coach told me to lean into the pitch instead of backing away. His next pitch hit me square in the eye.
He laughed and said, “I didn't say you couldn't duck.”
Maybe that's why I draw these ordinary things.
You start with a piece of gum and somehow end up standing on a Little League field again.
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