Over the last few months, I’ve acquired a kind of weird hobby- collecting VHS tapes. It began as a fascination with analog technology when my mom gifted me an old VCR. I grew up at the tail end of the VHS era and still have fond memories of visiting the local Blockbuster video store to check out the latest releases. However, in the current era of streaming, finding something to watch is almost too easy, with a seemingly endless array of options and platforms for media consumption. Opting to physically select a movie has created a unique experience, one that is becoming increasingly popular with the rise of streaming services de-listing content.
I see VHS tapes almost like an archival record in a way. As a physical format, they contain the aesthetics and imperfections of their time, which offer a window into how media was consumed and experienced in a pre-digital age: Think back to when television shows weren’t in wide screen and the best resolution you could hope for was 480p. Watching a VHS now isn’t just about the content—it’s about experiencing it the way people actually did at the time, with all the limitations and quirks that came with the format. They are records of our shared cultural memories, even through their imperfections and degradations.
I also use VHS tapes in my own artistic practice, as I see them as one of the best visual representations of memory. Recently, I came across Matthew Leifheit’s recent sound installation and was reminded of this connection to the archive. Currently housed at the New York City AIDS Memorial, Leifheit’s 2025 The Gay Chorus: No Time At All consists of one 75-minute loop of 17 different performances from American Gay Men’s Choruses from 1984 – 1995. However, Leifheit sourced the audio from over 50 VHS tapes, digitized from personal and community archives. Specifically, he chose to include the noise distortions and deteriorations from the tapes as part of the sound. I personally found the piece an amazing way an artist had activated the archive- using the material to transform and using the material to transform and recontextualize memory through its own fragility. Rather than restoring or cleaning the audio, Leifheit lets the wear speak, making the medium inseparable from the message. It’s a reminder that archives aren’t just about preservation—they’re also about presence, interpretation, and feeling. Whether through a choral performance echoing across a memorial or a worn VHS tape playing on a living room CRT, these formats invite us to listen more closely—to what’s remembered, and to what might otherwise be lost.
