My mother does not care for shiny things. Her prized possessions are understated and worn. She wears her shirts again and again until holes begin to eat away at the integrity of the piece. Actually, it seems frivolous to refer to any of her belongings as “pieces.” The word is too cold, too foreign, too sanitized. What my mother owns is meant for practicality. It is meant to last. 

My mother is perpetually saving. She saves her money and her clothes and her empty Pez containers. She clutches onto items in the event that one day there will be another use for it. Maybe it is because she studied economics in college or because of the student loans that followed her, even as she was enlisted in the Navy (no one can escape when the bankers come knocking), that she holds onto things for as long as possible. 

As she files and stores her belongings of yesterday, I have found myself often becoming the recipient of these objects. I cannot help but catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of my car window and see a refraction of the woman that I never met, but who I know so well. During a recent move from rural Pennsylvania, I have sifted through boxes upon boxes of old photographs and letters and mementos that she has saved. By cataloging and scanning these artifacts, a  picture of a young woman has materialized before me. 

Where I have only seen my mother tirelessly working for the benefit of other people, myself and my brother included, I have gotten to uncover relics of my mother from years ago. The Amy Marsh who was newly 21 years old. The Amy Marsh who created a scrapbook of her friends and sister’s figure skating showcases. The Amy Marsh who attended Halloween parties and drank underage in Navy Corpsman school. The Amy Marsh who kept a photo of her cat above her cot in Bahrain. The Amy Marsh who suntanned on the tarp covered sand of a naval base, and who sacrificed her young adulthood to escape her hometown. 

While the belongings that I have already inherited tie me so closely to this woman, I have come to realize that I will never truly meet my mother as the young woman in these photos. Despite this, I want to better understand her. So, I will attempt to capture the stories of young adulthood that get lost between generations through a convergence of photographs, letters, and items. I hope to repurpose these items of the past as a connection to the present. As I know what will come and what will unravel between then and now, this project is a portrayal of the woman my mother is now and the young woman, who I cannot help but feel to be a friend, conspirator, and guide into the years ahead of me.

Selected for the 2024 Tulane Undergraduate Juried Exhibition