Photos from “Oficina de objetos perdidos“, series by Ramiro Chaves. The series was done in the lost and found office of a Mexico City Metro station.
wouldn’t it be nice if there were a place in the city where all that is suddenly gone from our lives could actually go to, end up there. and i am not only referring to the plastic surgery book one usually reads on the morning subway to work (tantalizing literature to flip through as the train screeches to a halt and then jumps again, as the skin of the face constantly lunges backwards and forwards); not only a ball that bounced away (is it maybe the one dylan thomas lost as a kid?); not only a tv set (how the hell does one lose a tv set?) but also the place where to find alongside the lost umbrella those sticky red pieces of lost guts or lost heart; lost lungs, lost thoughts, lost love, lost friends, lost moments, lost time. forgotten or mislaid or wasted or runaway or simply absent or taken or strayed; gone missing once, but somewhere expecting to be reclaimed again. still there.
and i also wonder if i one day saw some of my lost opportunities (for example) waiting patiently covered in dust upon a shelf in a dusty office: would i recognize them as mine? or do things sometimes become so lost that there comes a moment that we donÂ´t even realize anymore they once were ours? (maybe we should mark everything we own with our initials from now on—our guts, our thoughts, our sleep, our hearts. our friends with tattoos so it wonÂ´t wash off.)
yes. wouldn’t that be nice if there existed such an office.
because then, instead of downing a couple of blue or pink pills with the third tequila (straight) we could just go and pick up our lost sleep or our lost hope with the old man in the gray jacket. who would verify the initials against some official document or other of ours, makes us sign a few paper, hand it over. and that would be that. un-lost. or home.
but. impossible i guess. one must be a realist, in spanish at least. oficina de objetos perdidos: perdidos: lost. no found (to be found) anywhere, not in mexico, not en espaÃ±ol. lost in a missing word of our language all the things we lost of ourselves.
(Ramiro took the Martin Parr Master-Class and Christoffer Boe Workshop.)