Houston-based artist Kim Willson uses bits and bobs she finds wherever she goes to create tiny worlds of nostalgic delight.
Story by Candance Echols, Photos by Kennon Evett
On Saturday nights in the 1960s, it was a common scene for families to set up the card table in the living room for family and friends to come over for a weekly visit. The adults played Rook and Canasta while the kids listened to vinyl records, rode bikes around the neighborhood, and made homemade ice cream. It was common to see an ashtray on the table, whether the homeowner smoked or not. It was a time when visitors expected to be able to smoke indoors during conversation — the sort of Dean Martin with a martini and cigarette era. When a cigarette vending machine shows up in an old movie or photo, it’s reminiscent of those old days.
Cigarette vending machines were ubiquitous in American cities and towns for much of the twentieth century. The first one was invented in 1926, dispensing smokes in packages. By the Depression Era, the economy had taken a hit, but the smoking population had grown. Cigarette machines enabled customers to buy one at a time for a penny a piece. For those who were accustomed to a regular smoke, these vending machines were small versions of a happy place. They could be found in barber shops, beauty parlors, restaurants, cafes, movie theaters — just about anywhere — until 2010. It was then that the FDA banned tobacco vending machine sales across the country, which was a good move for the country’s overall health.
Once part of the American mid-century cultural landscape, the old machines were hauled to the curb. Now and then, one appears in an estate sale or as a piece in many acquired antiques, which is how pop artist Kim Willson initially took the leap into this medium.
“Several years ago, a family friend came to me with the front cover of a really old, really cool vintage machine. He said he would like to do something with it, and he knew I had an artistic background. It turned out to be a commission that took shape in an unexpected way,” Kim says.
She considered painting the cover or hanging it on the wall, putting new glass in it, or refurbishing it altogether.
“Then, I wondered, ‘What if we built it out and filled in the missing pieces? And what if I created a miniature world inside the machine based off of the 1960’s Mad Men office with a marketing theme?’”
Her client was in a similar line of work, and the theme seemed to be one he would enjoy. But even more, the invitation to peer inside the machine’s slots appealed to both the eye and the imagination, transforming even the oldest of adults into a curiously whimsical child in merely a moment.
Kim thought about the machine as a place where people had historically gone for relief from life’s difficulties. While they no longer would find packs of cigarettes inside, perhaps she could use the old, metal body to create a fresh version of a happy place within. She built out the back and used every last tiny thing she could find to fashion a world of nostalgia that reflected the nuances of her client’s interests.
That was her first cigarette machine, and since then, she has built tiny worlds of felicity for clients all over the United States. Willson has to hunt hard to find machines in decent condition that can be refurbished to become works of art for business lobbies or
