As my object, I chose a mason jar. I use mason jars passively in my day-to-day as established containers around my home. On my desk, they contain writing utensils and various art supplies. Upon a wall installation, one contains a couple feathers and studded earrings. But I’ve been seeking mason jars more actively, using them for containing my smoothies I make at home and bring to school. Simple, enduring, pleasant to look at, and functional. They do not shout, they simply are wherever they are for whatever purpose you’ve given them. Usually, the purpose is to carry things. And in the case of my smoothies, I carry them.
So, for this project, I considered the following: what if a mason jar carried me? Mason jars are of a standard size, and so the entirety of Me could not possibly fit into a mason jar; however, I slipped my fists into one mason jar each, and proceeded to live as I normally do. I attempted to do things as I normally would, but came out as unsuccessful. Even though I could see objects within my grasp, my still-visible fingers would flex and stretch in vain as any object remained just out of grasp. My usually dextrous fingers were just as dextrous, but rendered unfunctional. The mason jars, too, were rather unfunctional, as they could not productively carry me to achieve some goal (other than thwarting my attempts to act on other objects). In the end, I succeeded in carrying a very-specific brush with an oblong shaft, and brushed my mother’s hair. I also was able to pull tissues out of a tissue box, but failed hopelessly at trying to blow my nose. I did not even try, because it would have been gross, and on the glass of mason jars, which my fingers were so close to touching but never would.
The experience was eye-opening and world-changing, even if just for the small span of time I had the mason jars on my hands. I have a long-withstanding fear of losing my fine motor skills in my hands. Without the dexterity, I would flounder in drawing, cooking, playing instruments, and being self-dependent in routine things (like buttoning my clothes). This exercise, although temporary, unsettled me. It reinforced the power a tangible object could have, even if through misuse.
The class echoed my thoughts on mason jars: how they are typically rather functional, and do their job well in containing things. And typically, people do not misuse them. The class joined me in laughing at my struggles to pick up a marker — a task that would in other circumstances be very easy for me, considering the health of my hands. Instead of mason jars being convenient and helpful, they were inconveniencing and formed a physical barrier between me and anything I hoped to achieve. In that way, the mason jars were still very enduring and reliable. But also, they lost their trait of pleasantness.