On Objects

Purchased at Paxton Gate.

My days are spent creating objects which people imbue with memories and meaning. Ironically, I grew up without that devotion to my possessions. There was no blankie or favorite toy, although I desired it. Mementos meant clutter. My best friend Sylvia moved at the end of the first grade and the morning she left, presented me with a small paperback book, a story about ballet and friendship. On the last day of school, I left it in my desk and never saw it (or her) again.

We later moved from our apartment in Queens to Long Island, and I was told that this was temporary. I learned not to grow attached to the walls and they remained bare for the next seven years.

I'm not sure when I started to see the beauty in an object. Perhaps it was at school or through the part time jobs I've collected since. But during my trip to San Francisco, I walked into a shop on Valencia Street, where I ran my fingers on a crafted wood ring, the surface polished to a high shine. I knew at that moment that it took a thoughtful hand to carve this piece. To decide what to cut and what to leave untouched. The creator had taken several pieces of sandpaper-- 40, 80, and then 150 grit maybe-- to smooth and reveal the grain of the wood without scratching the charred top. This was a labor of love. I pressed it into the heart of my hand and was moved.

1 comment:

j. vorwaller said...

Oooo, this is truly, intimately beautiful. any chance there is a link to the shop online? what a nice find...