Shadows on a slab of wood. Shine on metal. There is a dream within those details. I sit still, look at the space, at the walls, the coats on the door, the vases on a high shelf, the row of blue-and-white dish towels hanging by the sink, the glasses case on the sage green sofa, the aluminum-colored computer, the lacy Victorian tea cup, books tucked in a row with their slender stripes of colors and letters promising a world.
Every object promises an experience. At this moment, it rests on its resting spot, but it has its time of action. I think of drying my hands on the towel, sliding into my coat to go out, the vase holding a stem of lilies, the lamp lit, glasses on my nose, the computer humming and vomiting a world onto my face. And the books. The books are very ‘come hither’. They say, “Come in. Come into me. Come into these pages, turn them, spider letters weaving threads between your synapses.” These mercurial objects carry a world of experience. I look at them and the memory of the experience and the promise of another day, another partnership, another adventure with them is in their sculpture as they sit and watch me.