Look, "Raiders of the Lost Archives" had already been formally claimed by Jaime Owens back when he was toiling away over at the shambling zombie husk still somehow known as TransWORLD Skateboarding, so I had to make do with the next best Hollywood bite that came riding in on Indiana's blockbuster coattails. But, in case you had not noticed, we've added a new tab to our remedial Shopify site: ARCHIVE. What is it, you ask? Well, quite honestly, you could have just clicked on it and seen for yourself—it's fairly self-explanatory—but since you're here you might as well just read on. I mean, it's not like life is hurtling toward you with the ominous force of an oncoming car crash or anything, so you may as well just hang out and take a stroll down yet another wordy path with me.
The "archive" in question is actually two archives, because both partners in StrangeLove are notorious hoarders by nature. Early on in our formative years, Nick and I both acquired the bug for collecting and have not stopped in the pursuit of acquiring trivial objects in over what, 40-odd years now? Nick has it way, way worse than I do—or way, way better, depending upon your perspective of his treasures—but I definitely have my issues as well. Not that any of these particular OCD amusements of ours have any bearing on the "archive" at hand, though, because we're only talking about that which we've produced and held onto in the last decade through Paisley Skates and StrangeLove.
It was a real novelty starting our own company back in 2015, so saving a couple boards from every run wasn't all that unusual. Nick would pull his samples, I would pull mine, and since we were only producing 10 or 12 new decks the first couple years it didn't seem like much. And, you know, a couple prints here… some T-shirts there… gee, stickers sure are neat… and so on and so forth, but that's what flat files, plastic bins, and boxes are made for, right? Why else would there be entire retail stores devoted to containers of every shape and size? Plus, there really hasn't been a time in my adult life where I didn't have stacks of boards and skate shit laying around my dwelling space, so it all seemed quite natural. Comforting, actually. Who hasn't wanted to live in a skate shop? Well, aside from wives, girlfriends, significant others, partners, kids, or what have you, of course.
Anyway, add a storage unit to the mix and suddenly it became even easier to keep even more and more boxes of boards. So many boards! So many boxes! But while the piles at home stayed approximately the same height, the pallets in the storage unit somehow became taller and taller. It wasn't until I needed to find a few specific decks from this leaning tower of ply for an art show this summer that I finally came to the realization, "What the fucking fuck?!" Although, to be honest, it wasn't really my mind that thought that, but more so my back yanking hard on the medulla oblongata while additionally screaming, "Hey, this fucking hurts! A lot!" And it does. Physically I just can't handle it anymore. Especially if I want to keep skating. And Nick. Jesus. Like I alluded to earlier, his condition is way more extreme than mine and covers more niche bases than I have time to rattle off. So, let's just say his spaces have become a tad crowded as well, and for him to try and locate anything now requires an entire day to go spelunking in the troves like Scrooge McDuck.
All of which brings me to this: We're slowly going through our personal archives now and skimming off some of the excess fat that's been building up like plaque in our deep-fried veins over the years. In some cases, it may just be a single board or print from a run. Others, perhaps a couple. We never knew what may be needed at a moment's notice for an art show, museum exhibition, or god knows what else, so keeping a few extras always seemed like the sound thing to do. A few of these items may now be considered rare or possibly accrued some form of value, so the prices will reflect this at times. I know, feels weird, but it's that or some other asshole buys it only to flip and instantly double their money. And why should someone else blithely profit off our blood, sweat, and tears? Because I can wholeheartedly assure you that all of those have indeed been shed over the years.
Anyway, go have a look. And then maybe go look again in another week, as this category will be sporadically updated when time avails. Or, if you prefer your words in a more Biblical sense, feel free to heed the advice of Matthew: "No one knows the day or hour when these things will happen, not even the angels in heaven or the Son himself. Only the Father knows." Amen, Matty, amen. —Sean Cliver