Photos From the Past, Reimagined

This film slide lampshade was an exciting project. I had been wanting to make it for a while, so this assigned project was the perfect push to get it done. I was inspired by very similar projects like the one pictured below by user heylady on blogspot. I law the rawness of the project since the film slides are not adorned in any special way, they’re just put together in one place to be on full display.

https://photoslidelamps.blogspot.com/2011/01/pastel-rainbows.html

I also love this one by the artist BlinkLab who sells unique upcycled lamps on Etsy. BlinkLab’s work is very relevant for this project since they use upcycled materials in all of their pieces. The aesthetic of their products puts the upcycled materials front and center without trying to hide or distort them at all. Similarly, I hope to preserve the film slides as much as I can and allow them to be the star of the project close to their original state.

https://www.etsy.com/shop/BlinkLab/updates

my initial sketch

I was hesitant to even do this project because it has been done so much before, but I love the design and aesthetic so much that I went for it. I started by planning what I needed to buy and do. I was determined not to spend too much money or too much time on the lampshade. I searched thrift and antique stores for film slides, the base of the design, but had no luck. I knew of a store in Colorado Springs that sold old slides, but the trip didn’t seem worth it. Online, I found plenty on Etsy and eBay, but they were overpriced. Finally, I visited the Art Parts reuse center in Boulder and found a gold mine—cheap slides with plenty to choose from. I ended up with about 250 slides, more than twice what I needed, for only $2.

My favorite part of this project was looking through the slides. At the store, I picked out ones I liked, then filled the rest of my bag with random extras. At home, I took my time examining them, admiring not just the photos but also the scribbled notes, water stains, and ink splatters that gave each slide character. Some had heartwarming captions, like “Saying goodbye to Slipper” on a 1962 photo of a woman petting a dog or “ROBIN 77” on a girl settling into her dorm. Each slide felt like a small art piece, holding glimpses of real life that I wanted to honor.

Some photos almost made me emotional. A 1981 Christmas family photo makes me wonder about their parties and where the kids are today. A shot of seven people holding hands across a street in Spain makes me curious about who staged it and whether the toddlers cooperated. Every black and green slide on my lamp is from their 1983 Europe trip, and I love imagining their adventures. Wedding photos, rainbows, best friends, and families each hold meaning I will never fully grasp, but I love to wonder. This aesthetic is not just about composition. It is about the feeling these relics evoke.

In a previous post, I called this aesthetic “nostalgic ephemera” and described it as:

“It’s hard to name the aesthetic of using other people’s past possessions, but I suppose that is just what upcycling is. I’ll call it ‘nostalgic ephemera’ to emphasize the feeling we get when admiring objects that hold strong emotions for the person who owned them, as well as the physical idea of a souvenir-type item.”

Image from About Boulder “Boulder Antiques Unveiled: Exploring Hidden Treasures in Local Shops”

: https://aboutboulder.com/blog/boulder-antiques-unveiled-exploring-hidden-treasures-in-local-shops/

The idea is rooted in the intangible history that objects hold. The visual aspect of this aesthetic is important, of course, but most of the meaning comes from the emotions and history behind the piece. Some film slides stood out to me visually, like the solid black plastic slides and the red-bordered Kodachrome slides. But if the photo inside was blank, I wouldn’t like it as much, even though you couldn’t see the image without looking closely. Nostalgic ephemera can be anything from ticket stubs and receipts to furniture or even houses. A house can have a Victorian style and aesthetic, but its history adds depth, turning it into something more meaningful.

Image from user “Diamond Writes” on Pinterest: https://pt.pinterest.com/pin/397864948330047294/

I can compare the aesthetic of this project to nostalgiacore, a more well-known aesthetic described by Aesthetics Wiki as “an aesthetic involving nostalgia and archived history.” The site emphasizes that many things can evoke nostalgia, as long as they were once meaningful to the person experiencing it. Modern nostalgiacore often revolves around 2000s toys and memories, like Littlest Pet Shop or Purble Place, but I believe the concept has always existed—the objects that evoke nostalgia simply change over time. These film slides give me a sense of nostalgia, but they may not for others.

Then came hole-punching and drilling. This part hurt my heart a little. As I cut small holes in each film slide, I felt like I was destroying them in some way. But it was important to remind myself that whoever owned them didn’t want them, and there were thousands at the store. If I hadn’t bought them, they may never have been seen or appreciated again. It was hard to get past the initial guilt, which set me back a few days, but eventually, I just did it. I had to drill holes into the black and green plastic slides, then mark the paper slides and use a 1/16-inch hole punch. The slides were thick, so I took breaks to let my hand rest.

After punching the holes, I organized the slides for the jump rings, starting with standout ones like solid black, green, and red Kodachrome slides. I love the solid red, the high-kerning sans-serif font, and the 1960s-modern logo layout. Then, I filled the gaps with mostly white slides. Once arranged, I could see the aesthetic taking shape, even without a light source. Kodak slides were all upside down, so I prioritized upright photos over the logo. This adds a comical touch and a sense of authenticity, reinforcing that while I made the lamp, the photos are not mine.

I attached the slides with small, almost unnoticeable jump rings to keep the focus on the photos. My jump rings were too small to fit around the thrifted lampshade base, so I used white ribbon instead, tying it through the slides and base before trimming the excess. Fortunately, the lampshade base fit an even number of slides, avoiding awkward bunching or stretching. A mistake on my part was not checking that I assembled the lampshade ring right side up. I only noticed after fully assembling the lamp, but I think I can live with it. If the light bulb sitting too high starts to bother me, I’ll fix it, though retying the ribbon won’t be easy.

Thinking I was done, I decided to add a scallop of beads along the bottom. Back at Art Parts, I picked up dull, neutral beads to match the slide mounts and photos. Threading them was tedious because my string frayed easily, and I had to hold it constantly while knotting to keep it in place. The weight of the beads warped the slides, so I reattached the bottom metal hoop from the original shade. Threading ribbon through the pre-threaded holes for cohesion with the top rim was tricky but workable.

After securing the bottom hoop, I thought I was done, but something felt off. The top had enough slack, but the bottom was too rigid, warping the slides outward. After sitting with it, I realized I just didn’t like it. I removed the beads and bottom rim, returning to the original design. It’s simpler but highlights the slides without distraction. The lamp is now functional and sits in a corner of my living room for me and my guests to admire. I’m using a color-changing bulb, but I set it to a neutral color because I don’t want to distract from the film slides. I love how it fits the space, and it’s sparked conversations where I can share my favorite photos and hear what others like.

This project went beyond just making a lampshade. It was about preserving fragments of the past and giving them new life. The beauty of nostalgic ephemera lies in its imperfections: the scratched surfaces, the scribbles of writing, and the mystery of the stories behind each piece. These slides, once forgotten, now serve a new purpose, casting light and holding their own space in a corner of my home. Through this process, I’ve come to appreciate not just the aesthetic of old objects but the way they connect us to untold stories, sparking curiosity and emotion in ways that feel both deeply personal and universally relatable.