Plastic Rings

Katie Berka (@katie_berka) is a painter, living and working in Queens, New York. She creates diorama-like dreamscapes composed of peculiar versions of everyday objects. Working primarily in oil on panel or canvas, she presents an off-kilter interpretation of the totems of daily life, focusing on the layered meanings imbued within commercial objects.

This painting, “Plastic Rings,” installed in the gallery in November and December 2024, invited the question:

Is there something you keep in a place of honor that has value…just to you?

Here’s how our neighbors responded: 

I have the original 1937 wedding/dinner reception invitation + dinner menu of my grandparents' wedding in the Bronx! It's a simple art deco invite, and on the menu were snacks like "Queen Olives, mints, celery, and gherkins," which I get a kick out of because that sounds like a random combination today.

My item of value is a partial set of measuring spoons in the shape of geese which used to be on my grandmother's (mom-mom) kitchen. They sit on a tiny ladder. Over the years they've been broken or lost but I still have 2 of the 4 and they sit overseeing my cooking in every kitchen I have. They're silly and wonderful and bring back memories of.cooking with her.

A small eraser in the shape of a pig is always situated on top of my dresser. It’s a nod to an inside joke I had with my dad. He died 20 years ago when I was a senior in high school.

The one object I keep in a place of honor is my late mother’s last bottle of perfume. It’s nearly empty, but the faint trace of her favorite scent still brings me comfort. It's always on the dresser in my bedroom, where it quietly holds its place as a deeply personal totem of memory and love.

I keep a cheap little glass bell decorated with birds that was my late grandmother’s up on a shelf with family pictures. It’s a “tchotchke”, but it reminds me of her.

My maternal grandmother passed away a few years ago, and I took a number of her kitchen tools into my apartment, but the one that holds the highest honor for me is her every day wooden spoon. I cook with it all the time and think about all the meals she made for us, and all the love that went into them. I hope I’m doing her proud when I use it.

Right above my desk, I keep a little felt pennant I got for graduating from my Master’s Degree program. It means a lot to me because I graduated in May, 2020, at a time when the world seemed frightening and uncertain and I didn’t feel as though finishing my thesis was at all important compared to what was happening outside my window. After everything (even the library) went remote, I learned to appreciate small wins and joys as they amounted to greater progress, and perseverance.

For the last 15 years I've had a piece of driftwood hanging on my wall, like a work of art. I discovered it on the rocky beach of Lopez Island in the Puget Sound. It's a reminder of that time in my life, and of how many different kinds of beauty there are in nature: even in wear, breakage, or decay.

I keep a collection of rocks, shells, leaves, and other small nature items that I pick up when catch my eye. At this point, I’m not sure which ones are from where anymore but I just enjoy that they are here.

I have a small knife from Germany that my grandfather bought while stationed there during the Korean War. It now sits on my desk, and I use it to open my mail. It reminds me of him every time I use it.

A few years ago I found a 3ft tall pepper grinder on the curb and brought it home. It works great, and we christened it "Big Pep." We keep it in a special place near the kitchen table, and whenever we bring it to the table, we do so with great ceremony and reverence. All hail Big Pep!

I keep a napa cabbage charm hanging right by the peephole in the front door-it swings as the door opens and closes. Napa is one of my favorite vegetables and one of my favorite symbols of luck; I bought it during a pivotal time in my early twenties, on a walk in Chinatown. It reminds me of the cabbage dishes my family used to make, the heads of green that adorn kitchen altars, the humble soup that was said to have saved the life of an empress when all else failed.

On the back of one of my bookshelves there is a combinations of postcards, collages and photos I have gotten over the years. I sometimes forget about them and then pull out objects and there are smiling faces I haven’t seen in ages and recalling notes and clips of articles my mom would send me.