I went to the Camberwell Sunday Market today. It was a real variety market; lots of hand-made jewellery and soap, as well as lots of antique collectables and vintage items.
I couldn't help but think that I was walking through the remnants of peoples lives, taking and rejecting.
I was imagining
what everything looked like in a home once upon a time ago,
the people who bought and used those tea cups,
who took those old photographs and wrote in those postcards,
and who travelled with those suitcases.
There were old wind up phones, type writers, old fragile lamps, fur coats, cow boy boots and records.
I bought some old Men in War magazines for my boyfriend, who has a love for history and the military, as well as a framed picture of a military plane flying over a base.
For myself, I bought some old written-on postcards and some black and white family photographs. They were too beautiful to resist and I just felt like there was a story radiating from them, wanting to be heard and recorded. I couldn't help but wonder who those people were, where they came from, and how their family photos and personal postcards ended up at the Sunday Market.