Recycled Religion
“Recycled Religion” is a self-initiated creative project which I concepted, wrote, designed, and photographed myself. On a recent trip to the local thrift shop I was overwhelmed by the number of religious artifacts that populate the shelves. Finding the idea of reselling someone’s beliefs or faith intriguing, I set out to create a book to explore it.
The walls of the second-hand store are lined with cheap metal shelves holding the mass of random objects: electronic equipment, clocks, lamps and the like. Clothing racks fill the empty floor space. In the back is an out-of-place living room comprised of mismatched pieces of returned furniture, all of which appear to be inhaling their last bit of life from the musty air. In one of the back corners is the dishes and china section. Acres of the same dish and plate set line glass shelves.
In the opposite corner are the rows of book cabinets up for sale holding the overflowing herd of books, which line up in no particular order. Endless rows of romance novels, cookbooks, and guides on how to efficiently navigate the DOS system pile from the ground to the ceiling. There is out-of-style clothing, out-of-fashion jewelry, books full of out-of-date information, electronics with out-of-date hookups, dishes and china with out-of-style designs, and toys with out-of-date characters.
This place is the home of the popular culture outcast—defeated by modern trends and put to shame by modern innovations. This is where the “has-beens” have come to lie down, curl up, and die. Only a select few will experience the glorious resurrection of the resale.
Wandering these aisles, I am struck by something that is perched on the glass shelf among the dishes–a small carved statue of Christ looking heavenward, his knees to the ground, and hands clasped together in earnest prayer. What catches my attention more than his white painted eyes staring back at me is the oversized, yellow and black price tag pasted to his back. The price reads $3.50, not bad for a hand-carved likeness of He who 33% of the world call their Savior, but even that is lost next to the larger print on the top of the sticker, the title of “Bric-a-Brac.”
If these objects could talk, what would they say? What stories would they tell? Had they failed their owners? Had their owners failed them? Are there stories of heartache, longing, and sadness? Or confusion, inspiration, and illumination? When were they picked up, carried, prayed with or looked at? Did they sit above the television set, on the bed stand, in the kitchen, or hang from the rearview mirror of the family car? And at what point were they collected and dropped at the curb of a thrift store?