Leaving a Trace and Archiving
A train of thought stretching from natural traces to the records left by humankind.
When we cut into the trunk of a tree, we can see its rings and use these to work out its age. Each ring reveals information about the previous year, such as whether there was a drought or rapid growth, or what changes occurred in the tree's surroundings. Yet the tree does none of this to keep a record. It simply lives, grows, and leaves traces on its trunk. Years later, we interpret these traces in an attempt to understand the past.
The situation with a fossil is not much different. Similarly, layers of paint on the walls of a building, the worn surface of an old chair or the handle of a frequently used door can carry traces of the past. None of these things came into being with the intention of remembering, preserving or leaving something for the future. Yet when we look at them, we can see the past.
Come to think of it, there is an interesting distinction here. We don't usually regard the spontaneous flow of nature or the changes that objects undergo over time as archives because an intention is usually behind what we call an archive. We archive things because we want to preserve them, ensure they are not lost, and be able to access them again when necessary. In other words, a tree does not celebrate its age; a wall does not organise the layers of paint on its surface; and a chair does not attempt to preserve the traces of the people who sit on it. These things emerge as a natural consequence of their existence. Whether or not this is their purpose, this is how they take shape.
We, on the other hand, make a special effort to do this from time to time. When it comes to archiving, we tend to take a conscious rather than an instinctive approach.
Take birthdays, for example. We buy a cake, blow out the candles and take photos. Isn’t there an element of forward thinking in such an ordinary behaviour? After all, we know that the present moment will one day become the past, and we want to preserve it. If we were to take a photograph of the same person in the same place every year, it would become clear that we are also trying to capture change. While the first photograph may be a mere memory, over the years, the accumulation of photographs turns into a small archive.
However, not every trace a person leaves behind has to be a conscious archive. You may have done this yourself as a child. Consider the lines drawn on the edge of a door to mark a child's height, for example. When those lines are first drawn, we don't think they'll one day become a memory. Years later, when we move out of that house, they may take on the quality of a record of the life lived there. They tell a story. The same can be said of notes scribbled in the margins of a book, creased letters, and scratches on a well-used table.
Therefore, we can conclude that not everything containing information about the past was created with the intention of preserving it.
A trace that was not created for archiving purposes can be interpreted as an archive years later. A house's walls do not set out to tell their story, yet visible changes to them can reveal what has happened within the house. The faded colours and marks on the walls begin to carry different meanings.
We see a more pronounced version of this in museums. An object that was once part of everyday life takes on a different meaning when exhibited. Even if it is physically the same object, our perspective on it changes. Whereas it was once a used item, it is now seen as a witness to the past. We examine it to see what it reveals about the era to which it belongs. This applies whether the artefact belongs to the present or the distant past.
Do you think this is where the human desire to archive comes from? We know that time will pass and that some things will change. This is why we take photographs, keep diaries, save letters, collect books and preserve buildings. Since we cannot stop time from passing, we try to carry fragments of the past into the future.
However, we must not forget that archives do not represent the entirety of the past. As the conscious creators of archives, we humans have an important responsibility: we decide what to preserve. We keep one photograph and delete another. While we deem one building worthy of preservation, we allow another to be demolished. Consequently, an archive consists not so much of all the events that have taken place, but rather of the things we have chosen to retain from them. This is precisely why archives can have such a strong nostalgic effect.
Conversely, nature does not offer such a choice when it comes to the traces it leaves behind. A tree does not know which year is more significant. Walls do not decide which events are worth remembering. They merely leave traces as a result of their existence. However, we read and interpret these traces, and when that is not enough, we create new ones ourselves.
It seems that our desire to archive is not solely based on the need to remember. We know that one day everything will change, that some things will disappear, and that we too will be part of that change. This is why we try to record the present as the future's past. After all, we are aware that the future is uncertain.
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