Object-ives #53: Oinky, the Pig

Finding magic in the impractical

Oinky was useless as a piggy bank but became a surprisingly meaningful piece of art

On the built-in bookshelf in a small room in my apartment sits a ridiculously large ceramic piggy bank. Its white ceramic complexion is decorated with hearts, stars, and splotches of color made by dipping a sponge in paint and pressing onto its surface. There is a thin black painted smile, a painted pink snout, and two small black dots for eyes.

On the side it reads: Oinky, The Pig.

Oinky sits among a few other objects on the shelf. A miniature drum kit, three signed baseballs in display cases, a plastic cup with Jiminy the Cricket on it, filled with tiny plastic ducks. These items were carefully curated to be kept out of storage when I moved into this apartment from the condo where I raised my two boys. This room has no windows as it was built into the original layout and is where one child sleeps when he comes home from college. I have LED lights that illuminate the playful memories and can be seen from the pull-out couch where the other one sleeps when he’ is home at the same time.

Oinky is comically big for a piggy bank, and impractical, yet here it sits. My youngest received a small silver piggy bank when he was born that could fit into the palm of your hand. I have no idea where that is. Likely it was purged alongside so many other things that were so easy for me to part with. I’m a constant de-clutterer. I live in downsize mode. I get rid of anything that isn’t being used. I scanned the kids’ art, and they were asked to sift through their rooms yearly, getting rid of things they no longer wanted, clothes that didn’t fit, schoolwork that’s relevance had expired. I routinely go through closets, drawers, and cabinets, reorganizing, tossing, and updating.

I love throwing things away. I love giving things away.

But Oinky remains.

I need two hands to move it. If it was used as a piggy bank, and it was full, you wouldn’t be able to lift it; I’m certain of this. The bright paint of the stenciled stars and hearts are smudged around the edges, and the little legs that support its globe-like body are painted without a plan, two purple, one blue-green, and one seemingly a mix of all those colors.

I tried to get rid of it.

It would sit in the clear-out pile, time after time.

But I couldn’t do it.

The sentimentality surprised me.

I couldn’t even understand why.

I don’t remember making Oinky.

But I can imagine their little hands, dipping sponges in the paint, stretching their small bodies to reach it in the center of the table as we created something new, together. The four of us, as it would’ve happened before my divorce. I imagine us admiring our work, and the giggles that came when naming it. I do remember that for a little while, we saved some coins in it. Once a dollar bill was shoved in the slit up top and it took tweezers and patience to remove it from the bottom hole. Even the coins took some deft maneuvers to get them to land just right to drop out of the center.

Useless as a piggy bank, it became a decoration.

And over time, it became more. This giant ceramic impractical pig reminds me that I did play, even though memories skew to the constant balance of single parenting, working, and the endless to-do lists of motherhood. I continued to find fun things to create and experience, among the more tedious tasks of managing money, time, and emotions. It holds memories and possibility, instead of coins and dollars. Keeping it, and wondering why, gives it life as it searches for new meaning.

I imagine when my kids have their own places and less real estate on my shelves is thoughtfully curated for them, Oinky the Pig will remain. It will have a prominent place like a piece of contemporary art, the personal equivalent of a Jeff Koons balloon animal. It will be an intentional part of my décor, reminding me of resilience, playfulness, imperfect parenting, and the invisible, and surprising, magic that can be found in the impractical.

Sara Lavan is a dancer who has always loved to write, or maybe a writer who got distracted for a while with dance. For a while, she found a way to blend the two. She built a career creating programs that center creativity, community, and well-being. Sara fills her life with all things dance and movement, and considers words part of that rhythm. She is in her third act after many life changes, including her kids going off to college.

Object-ives features flash nonfiction essays of 500-999 words on the possessions we can’t stop thinking about.

Recommended reading on possessions:

“Living with found fragments and meaningful objects” by Lorene Edwards Forkner, Cultivating Color

“Practical Tips on How to Place Art in Your Home” by Elena Mostovova, Art for Breakfast

“Acquiring New Things Won’t Make You Happy - But Maybe This Will” by Shira Gill, The Life Edit

“happier at home (in Amsterdam!) with Snigdha Bansal, who’s discovered ‘joy in the sisyphean struggle of keeping house’” by Nancy Reddy, Be Less Careful

“I took the first step to living like a minimalist and it felt surprisingly unsatisfying” by Tanza Loudenback, Business Insider