"Did you find anything special," Blackie asked.
T. nodded. "Come over here," he said, "and look."
-- Graham Greene, Shock!
Found pink rubber bracelet 11-30-14 |
"And isn't the whole point of things -- beautiful things --
that they connect you to some larger beauty?"
-- Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch
On the windowsill in my mudroom is a collection of random objects.
A purple plastic magnetic number "2." A small wiffle ball. A feather. The plastic trailer from either a toy train or a toy truck advertising Leikeim (a German brewery) "Limonaden" (lemon soda). A miniature bobble-headed toy cat.
I found each of these things on my walks.
I often find interesting things on my walks, sometimes on bike rides.
Lost things.
Discarded things.
Fallen objects.
Sometimes I pick these fallen objects up and put them in my pocket and bring them home. Yesterday was particularly bountiful. By the time I returned home, I had a pocketful, and a handful. It was like a treasure hunt.
In a four-mile trek around my town I'd found:
a deflated balloon bouquet
a rusty razor blade
a cheap silver bracelet
a broken rubber bracelet
a rock painted pink
a theater ticket
a pinwheel
a gold star
an Easter egg
a rusty razor blade
a cheap silver bracelet
a broken rubber bracelet
a rock painted pink
a theater ticket
a pinwheel
a gold star
an Easter egg
Sometimes I photograph the objects. Some I photograph here at home. Others I leave where they are and return later to photograph them in situ.
Yesterday's collection got me thinking.
I've been on the fence about whether I want to do a 365 days project for 2015. Mostly because I've been waiting for an idea to strike, an idea compelling enough to get me excited about sustaining my streak for yet another year.
I think I found it.
I found it in the stuff I found.
I was photographing this dirty, broken pink cancer awareness bracelet imprinted with the word "strength." It's just cheap rubber. A bit of trash. Found on a roadside. Nothing special. Broken. Useless.
But the image of it struck me as somehow lovely. Beautifully tragic. Ironic and incongruous. Hopeful? Hopeless? All of the above. I look at it now and this simple, fallen object tells a story.
Artists make art from found objects all the time. (It's the best kind of recycling. It's also a helpful way to clean up the neighborhood.) So for next year, I think maybe that's what I'll do.
Who knows? It might be a good idea.
Look out for fallen objects!
Look out for fallen objects!