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For many students, art plays an important role in making a dorm room feel like home. With Harvard move-in now complete, The Crimson’s Arts Board reflects on their favorite pieces of dorm room art.
Decorating from the Soul
Every corner of my dorm room is laden with meaning. From my houseplants to the origami chain adorning my window, I can describe the origin of every item within these four walls. The object that most completely encapsulates this intentional ornamentation is my weighted heart pillow. A decorative throw pillow by day and comfort-stuffie by night, this simple object brings both color and love to my room.
I received my beloved heart pillow as a gift from my dearest friend during a particularly stressful period in my teenage life. 969 days later, I still cannot sleep without hugging it to my chest.
Given the abounding love that emanates from this unassuming bed decor, I feel uniquely exposed when a friend plops onto my bed and grabs my heart, petting the knitted scarlet fabric and remarking on its unexpected weight. It feels like a glance directly into the most vulnerable parts of my soul, and what is a bedroom if not vulnerable?
As cliché as it sounds, I believe that home is defined not by physical appearance or location but rather our closest friendships and most cherished memories. As I get older and the people I hold dear are no longer physically near me, art that represents these bonds will have to suffice, and there is no greater object in which this manifests than the simple throw pillow that sits atop my bed.
—Staff writer Lola J. DeAscentiis can be reached at lola.deascentiis@thecrimson.com.
A Mascot for My Memories
As much as I loved my new dorm room, I could not stand its empty walls. Disappointed by the meager photographs packed in my suitcase, I launched a scavenger hunt through the art rooms inside of Harvard’s upperclassmen houses.
Several art rooms offered the standard markers and colored pencils, but I was looking for something unique. One boasted a bounty of scrapbooking supplies, but I doubted a collage would complement my already-cluttered desk. Just as I was leaving my fifth stop in a slump, an animal coloring book caught my eye. I rushed out of the room with a blank outline of a walrus and a vision.
Using a stamping kit I spotted in another art room, I adorned the body of the walrus with the words, “I AM THE.” Having grown up listening to The Beatles, I always chuckled at the nonsensical lyrics of “I Am The Walrus.” I never understood them as a kid, and I’m not sure I do now.
Nevertheless, the first installment of my new poster collection now hangs proudly on my wall. Every time I enter my room, the song echoes through my mind, prompting a flood of nostalgia for the music of my childhood.
—Staff writer Audrey H. Limb can be reached at audrey.limb@thecrimson.com.
My Knick-Knack, Myself
I spent much of the summer before my sophomore year trying to curate a collection of knick-knacks for my new dorm room. My first year at Harvard had been a roller coaster for many reasons, so the summer felt like a good time to find my sense of self in a shopping aisle. Was I cottagecore? Mid-century Modern? Eclectic? I combed through thrift stores hoping to find something authentically “me.”
My self-discovery eventually came through other avenues, but I did find a very cool — and slightly kitschy — black-and-white checkered jewelry box along the way. It has a gold fleur-de-lis handle and a few scuffs from its previous life. It weighs at least ten pounds — a fact I know all too well after lugging it up five flights of stairs. The jewelry box sits proudly on my bookshelf and holds all of my favorite necklaces. My roommates call the box “Granny Chic.” I call it fabulous.
—Staff writer Evelyn J. Carr can be reached at evelyn.carr@thecrimson.com.
A Glimpse of the Past
Decorating my dorm room has always been an ever-evolving process for me. As I get older and my tastes change, what I choose to bring to campus varies each year. However, one piece of art that has been with me since my first year is my Robert A. McCabe poster. In the black-and-white photograph, a ship pulls into a quiet, still harbor on the Greek island of Naxos. Several people walk on the concrete platform. A little white church sits on a man-made island just off the port.
McCabe is a photographer who traveled throughout the Cycladic Islands in the 1950s, capturing scenes of everyday life that likely would be unfamiliar to those who have visited the islands today. At the time, the Cycladic islands were not yet synonymous with the term “tourist destination,” and, now, the existence of these photographs is a reminder of the importance of ethical tourism. I love this photograph because of its simplicity; it evokes a time lost, but not forgotten.
—Staff writer Thomas A. Ferro can be reached at thomas.ferro@thecrimson.com.
A Recursive Recollection
When I was in elementary school, I came across the picturebook “Flotsam” by David Wiesner. Actually, I didn’t remember the name of the book or the drawings on any of the pages until recently, when a series of deep Reddit searches brought me back to its fluorescent orange cover and the simple fish swimming below the title. I did remember, however, the book’s plot: a boy finds an old camera in the ocean filled with the photographs of every other person who had found the camera before. This recursive style of photography is termed the Droste Effect.
I never meant to create my own recursive picture when I decorated my first-year dorm with a photo wall. Unfortunately, the lack of air conditioning combined with the college-move-in-humidity caused most of the photos to peel. But, for the few that clung on for the entire school year, the memories of high school friends and childhood family photos brought comfort through any wave of homesickness or worry. When I moved out of that dorm, before I stripped down the photos and prepared the room for the next eager first-year, I took a picture of the wall. And that picture was the first photograph to be placed on the wall of my sophomore year photo wall. And at the end of my second year at Harvard, I took yet another photo of my wall to place on the next one.
I’m proud of this seemingly simple photo because it took three whole years to make. In the same way, we should be proud of the people we are today because we are recursive selves — constructed from years of previous moments.
—Staff writer Sarah M. Rojas can be reached at sarah.rojas@thecrimson.com.
Wenchang Pagoda – A Cultural Reminiscence
When I sent a picture of my dorm room to my high school teacher, she immediately asked about the wooden tower structure by my tea sets. She meant the nine-floor Wenchang Pagoda (文昌塔) that I’ve carried with me since I was in the eleventh grade. Because I’ve had it for so long, I did not notice how much it adds a Chinese, book-ish touch to my room.
The Wenchang Pagoda was built in many cities to show reverence for Daoist god Wenchang and ask for good luck in taking the civil service examination in late imperial China. Nowadays, the Wenchang Pagoda symbolizes prosperity in education and wisdom, and the tower is well-liked among intellectuals. The tower has been a token of faith in all the academic work I do as an aspiring history student to explore the continuity and rupture of the Chinese past.
Another reason this tower has been special for me is because it was passed down from a friend of mine in high school. We became friends when browsing books in the East Asian section of the library. When he went off to college, he left this tower as a blessing to my studies and the embodiment of our common interest in Chinese history. Even though the cracks of the wooden structure are coated with dust, the Wenchang Tower on my bookshelf reminds me of friendship, intellectual curiosity, and traditions from my homeland.
—Staff writer Dailan Xu can be reached at dailan.xu@thecrimson.com. Follow her on X at @Dailansusie.
