I’ve always been drawn to the things we hold onto. The small, quiet objects tucked into drawers or forgotten in basements—the rusted tool, the faded photograph, the scrap of lace, the note scribbled on the back of a receipt. These are the kinds of things that tell stories. And in the world of Contemporary Americana, they often become the work itself.
Found materials aren’t just an aesthetic choice. They’re emotional artifacts. When artists repurpose these items into visual works, they’re engaging in something deeper than recycling—they’re practicing cultural preservation, reimagining memory, and, often, rewriting the narratives we’ve inherited.
The Soul in the Scraps
One of the most powerful qualities of found-object art is how it collapses time. A rusted hinge, a piece of barnwood, a strip of vintage wallpaper—these carry the fingerprints of lives once lived. When artists incorporate them into new work, they create something that exists in multiple timeframes at once. The past is embedded in the present, and a new story emerges.
I’m especially drawn to artists who use these materials with intention—not simply as texture or novelty, but as metaphor. The cracked mirror that reflects distorted identity. The broken doll reassembled as a commentary on childhood and resilience. The quilt fragment that evokes both lineage and loss.
This kind of work doesn’t just show us something—it asks something of us. What do we value? What do we forget? What do we choose to remember, and why?
Americana as Accumulation
Contemporary Americana artists are often archivists at heart. We collect and layer. We sift through junk drawers and thrift stores like archaeologists of the recent past. In doing so, we touch on themes that are central to the American experience: mobility, nostalgia, reinvention, survival.
There’s something particularly American about turning what’s been discarded into something that demands attention. It’s resilience. It’s defiance. It’s transformation.
And in that transformation, we’re not just remembering—we’re reframing.
My Own Practice: Making from the Margins
As an artist, I’ve used found materials as a way to process my own experiences. In the Journey to Freedom series, I combined personal artifacts with items that had belonged to others—items I encountered while facilitating workshops in prisons, and pieces of my own history I was ready to confront.
There’s a kind of alchemy in combining objects that carry emotional or cultural charge. They create tension. They demand conversation. They ask us not only to look but to feel.
And that, to me, is the soul of this genre.
An Invitation
If you’re a collector, look closer at what you’re drawn to. If you’re an artist, consider the materials that call to you and why. And if you’re simply exploring, let yourself be moved by the work that’s layered, imperfect, and deeply real.
Because in every found object is a trace of a life—and in the hands of the right artist, it becomes a voice.
Until next time,
Adrienne