beveled glass
painted door;
a difficult day
turns around.
The streetlamp casts some light on the side of this sleepy house. Come in close. Look what someone's human hands did. Carved shape and pattern into the wood, counted, maybe, the number of slats, let air in, ensured circulation. Painted, too; more than once, from the looks of it.
If you want to touch, you have choices. You could start In between – negative space is still space – or touch the striated surface, where history wears itself like a little crown. Either way, you'll complete the gesture begun by the builder, illuminated in the night. You may not stay very long. You may find the urge to wash your hands after. The paint might be a little tacky, not because it's wet but because it's summer and the night air is humid. But you'll have achieved something I think might be important. There's something real here and poignant, I think, something graceful and rough. Something that has mainly but not only to do with how and why we do all we can with our own two hands. Something about heart. Picture yourself.
What do you see? Are you dressed up or casual? Sitting or standing? Are you smiling, pensive, scowling, or maybe just cruising neutral? Are you indoors or out? Is it daytime? Are you with someone, or alone? What's in it for you? I just watched a documentary about Woodstock, for free at my local public library. There was a brief interview with one of the homeowners in the town. The town had a white, conservative, Republican populace that had never seen the likes of an event like Woodstock. Two things among many struck me: 1. How white the attendees were. 2. What the middle aged white homeowner said about why he and his neighbors emptied their farms and pantries after learning that by Day Two the concert venue had run out of food. "Kids are hungry. You gotta feed 'em. Right?" Picture yourself. What do you see? This is not a simple exercise, I know that. This is only a test. This is not a real emergency. If this were a real emergency, I wouldn't be typing, and you wouldn't be reading. On the other hand, maybe it is and maybe I am and maybe you are. Drop into the landscape–
all the no-clear-peace-of-understanding to the consequent accumulation, there and there. What I mean to say is jeez, take your shit with you or at least, finish your drink! |
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