Photographer Joakim Blockstrom collects other people's treasures. He invites people to write about a treasured inherited object and then takes a picture of it. The record is added to a growing online archive
Two years ago, Joakim Blockstrom began to think about heirlooms. "Not about my own inheritance," says the photographer and father of five. "But how most things these days are mass produced, so that when the time comes, what will we have to hand on?"
He asked friends if he could photograph special objects they'd inherited, and stories came flooding out. Afterwards, people thanked him for giving them the chance to think deeply about something – and someone – they had taken for granted. "I gave people an opportunity to reconnect with their feelings about people they had known. The exercise shines a light on a particular member of the family. Quite often they would say something like, "I have never really thought about my grandfather like that before."
As word spread about Blockstrom's project, he began to hear from strangers who had objects for him to photograph and their own stories to tell. Gradually, he concluded that we all have heirlooms, though they are not always what you would imagine. "I have one person who has nothing from her dad except for one of his teeth. It's a bit gory, but does an heirloom have to be beautiful?"
Another woman wanted Blockstrom to photograph her naked body: she'd had a mastectomy because her mother had breast cancer.
People's stories almost always stirred him up. "Father-son things especially because I didn't grow up feeling very connected to my own father," he says. Indeed, his own heirloom is a photographic book about the Vikings that belonged to his father. "Maybe it's got something to do with holding on to my Swedish side" – Blockstrom left Sweden to live in London in 1987 – "and having something to pass on to my own children. Even if they can't read the Swedish, the book can become a symbol of their heritage."
The past has value, Blockstrom says, because it teaches us who we are. "But this project is not only about looking back. It's also about creating a catalogue of things that might be lost. Among his own possessions, he hopes to leave behind a handmade table designed by Conran, and expensive Italian pans. Which of his five children – Scarlett, 25, Kyle, 16, Kodie, 14, Johnny, nine, and Lola, seven – will inherit them? "Oh, I'll leave that to them."
Though his children have lived mostly with their mothers, he says he sees a lot of himself in them. "We all inherit a part of ourselves from our family. Good and bad. And we should treasure that. When I shout at my children, I can hear my father shouting. But my father, as well as shouting sometimes, is very creative, and my mother is very thoughtful. I have inherited both of those qualities. And they should be cherished."
The heirloom project started as a photographic exercise but quickly became a project about family. "It's asking people to think what we really value. What are our experiences within a family? And I think it's also a message to my own children." What is that message, exactly? He thinks for a moment before answering. "That they are important, and we are all connected, and I love them."
Interview by Alex Whyte
Here we publish a selection from the heirloom project:
SermonsMy dad was a fundamentalist born-again hellfire preacher and I grew up in a very antagonistic relationship with him. My normality as a teenager was hoping that new girlfriends wouldn't notice the faith-healing, amens and hallelujahs going on in the front room. I left home as soon as I could and it took me over a decade to sort out the mess that kind of religion leaves you with.
Then I was able to notice the man my friends saw – funny, eccentric, generous (he loved cartoons, he regularly gave away more money than he could afford, he taught himself Hebrew, Greek and Aramaic so he could read "what the Bible really said"). We still disagreed on almost everything but found we had a lot of common interests.
Shortly before he died he gave me his sermons. It was a brilliant, tongue-in-cheek gesture from him (mixed with some earnestness). They are dated, with where he preached and what hymns they sang, and passionately annotated and reworked. They were the thing that I most wanted, because they were him put down on paper.
I can never read more than a couple of lines, though, because they are so intolerant, aggressive and angry, and that's not how I want to remember him. But that's also why they are so great because their accidental message to me is about not being too hasty in dismissing someone because I dislike their attitudes. I'd have missed some great conversations that way.
My heirloom reminds me that we're all weird and we only think we aren't because we choose friends who are weird in the same way as us. John Wyatt-Clarke
Rotring pensMy dad died when I was just a lad, leaving me with just a few vague memories of things we did together. The things I tend to remember more, funnily enough, are the things he did. He was always doing something: making furniture, printing his photography in the darkroom, screen printing, painting or just sitting drinking whisky late at night playing his guitar. He never made it feel like we couldn't join in – it was just that he was busy and we were all happy to fit in around him because it made him what he was. Memories can be triggered by many things, none more so than our sense of smell. So if you put a bottle of Rotring ink under my nose today I'm straight back to Dad's study. His wooden swivel chair, his blood red desk, Letraset pages scattered all over and his Rotring pens all laid out, as he toiled over his latest poster for a local theatre or communist party poster.
I always loved the coloured collars the pens had and thought they must be very special. By day, his proper job was teaching kids with behavioural problems, but at night he'd let loose on his current creative outlet and we might not see him for hours. Its funny, but as I write, I realise I'm becoming exactly the same. Every night I escape to my studio at home, somewhat oblivious to everything around me, and sit there and make music or work on images until the wee small hours. Got a lot of my dad in me, I guess, although I never did get the taste for whisky. Owen Gale
DollI inherited Cassie from my mum years ago – guess I kind of just took her one day, as she had been shoved in a cupboard for years and was wearing no shoes, no knickers, no top, just a rather chunky, unattractive knitted pink skirt and braces, and even though the smile (obviously) remained intact, she looked somewhat chipped and neglected. I felt a bit sorry for her. She was my mum's first doll, and sported hair "back in the day", but like a well loved grandad, I'd only ever known Cassie as a baldie. But the broad metal staples that held three strategically placed tufts of hair remain in her head – another reason to feel for her! My mum passed away a few years ago, so Cassie's presence in my home has taken on even more significance. I like to move her around a bit, so that I never quite take her for granted.Although most visitors think she's rather creepy, to me she's always just my mum's Cassie and I think she looks really rather magnificent in all her naked, ebony glory, albeit a bit chipped. Suzanne Stankus
Leatherman knifeMy grandfather was a great sailor and taught me a lot about boats and sailing. He always carried a Leatherman sailing knife, for cutting ropes or just tinkering. I remember how he kept it so well oiled and it smelled like his workshop. He passed away a few years ago, and unfortunately we had to sell his yacht. My grandmother wanted to give her grandchildren one special thing to always remind us of how gentle and nice he was, and I was given his sailing knife. I now sail all the time, training and competing around the country, and always hope that he can see what I'm achieving. I carry the knife in my kit bag everywhere and use it just like my grandfather did. Hopefully, when I am older, I will own a yacht and use it as much as he did. Stan Chick, aged 13
Roberts radioWhen my grandfather passed away, my whole family went to his beautiful home in Gloucestershire to say goodbye for the last time and collect his belongings that had meaning to us. One of the possessions I picked was this classic vintage Roberts radio. I was very close to my grandfather and have fond memories of making him tea and sitting in his sunroom, where I would quiz him about his time serving during the war and we'd listen to the soothing sound of the cricket commentators on the radio – he played cricket for Gloucester in his youth – before his afternoon nap. Rosie Nicholls
Stuffed crocodileWhen I was five, my grandfather gave me this "stuffed" baby crocodile. It was already a very old specimen. He claimed it was found on the banks of the Nile in 1904. While it probably dates from around this time, I think he may have made up the story to appeal to a child's imagination. I thought it was incredible and it became my most treasured possession. It was the centre-piece of my bedroom "museum" and undoubtedly sparked my interest in taxidermy and curiosities. Many years later, I discovered just how ordinary such things are, but it never lost its appeal. It now has pride of place housed under a glass dome in my "cabinet of curiosities" at home and it's my children's favourite piece. Alexis Turner
Pin cushionThis miniature pin cushion was given to me after my grandmother passed away when I was 16. She was a seamstress, and I remember playing with it as a child while she was busy making me rag dolls. It sat in a drawer for years like most memories are left untouched in a part of your mind until you need them around you again. Elise Dumontet
CameraThis Kowa camera used to belong to my Japanese grandpa in Osaka. He died when I was 19 and I inherited it. He was a keen amateur photographer, loved taking photos in camera clubs and used to show off the images of beautiful models posing. He was also a keen English learner who would translate his favourite Abba records into Japanese. Now he must be enjoying his second life living inside me, speaking English every day and being a photographer in England. Without his influence, I would not be what I am now. Mayumi Hirata
ToolboxMy father died when he was only 41. I was 14. He was a craftsman and enjoyed working with wood. Apart from losing him, one of my biggest regrets is that he died before I had the chance to learn this craft from him. My most treasured possession is his old toolbox with his metal initials on, "MSC – Michael Stanley Cook". This box contains some of his most-used tools. It's a strong wooden box he made and the felt lining shows the respect people had for tools back then, trying to minimise damage and scratches. In recent years I've become accustomed to using these and now also collect vintage tools to add to my collection. Soon I will need to make my own toolbox. Gary Cook
Diver's watchIn the early 1970s I was nine years old when my family scrimped, saved and borrowed to take a train from Liverpool to Jersey for our first and only holiday "abroad". The hotel had palm trees and a swimming pool, and seemed like the most exotic place in the world. My sister, Joanne, was five years younger and hadn't yet learned to swim, but on our first evening she walked backwards into the swimming pool. There was nobody else around, so I jumped in fully clothed and lifted her from under the water to the side of the pool. I was more concerned about being in trouble for getting my clothes wet, but my parents were beside themselves with gratitude, and recounted the story to everybody in the hotel. We never had much money at the time, so I was amazed when they offered to buy me a watch the next day while out in the town. They were thinking of something small, inexpensive and age-appropriate, but I pointed to a large, ostentatious diver's watch, which was well out of their budget.
We left the shop empty-handed, and I thought nothing more of it until the next day when they surprised me with the watch. I wore it constantly for years afterwards and it sits in the bottom of a drawer now, but in my mind it will always be a most valued possession to pass on, representing the love and selflessness of my parents. Ian Pendleton
If you would like to take part in Joakim Blockstrom's project, contact him at theheirloomproject.co.uk
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