Over the past few months, I have been making an effort to review and take stock of the things under our roof. My plan was to take it slow and be deliberate about it rather than to try and do it all at once. I did not want to feel like I was going under and then end up quitting halfway through. In the end, some things have gone or will go to live elsewhere.
Over the weekend between bouts of sewing and cleaning out the garage, I was going through what I call scrap boxes: boxes filled with bits and pieces of paper memories from my/our lives.
Some of these bits may show up here when I’m feeling a little nostalgic. The letters and photos can be quite amusing! Check this one out. You can click on it to see it bigger. It’s a drawing sent to me from my then boyfriend/future husband on the layout of his dorm room. Too funny – and sweet too.
Going through these boxes I have discovered that while our lives, circumstances, friends etc. have changed over time, it’s very curious to me the subtle threads of constancy that exist. I don’t know why this fascinates me, but it does.
Years and years ago, (in the 1980’s!) when we lived in a different house in a different city, I picked up this brochure from an exhibit. I had forgotten that I had seen this work way back then.
Do you know this artist/sculptor? Perhaps you remember this post I wrote last year featuring some of his pieces in downtown Raleigh? While some people do not consider this art, we had a great time with the exhibit. See Sebastian there?
My fascination with these pieces has spanned time and place, age and circumstance. Here’s a photo from 2008 my daughter took of my husband and me outside Union Station in Tacoma Washington after we visited the Chihuly Museum there. We were . . . uh . . . waiting for a train?
Then last year in a little town not far from where I grew up, I was surprised and excited to see his giant (probably over 30 feet tall) interpretation of Renoir’s Dance in the Country so much so that I took photos in the rain.
Now I’ll be looking for these sculptures wherever we go – because apparently, due to the evidence, we have a thing for these characters. What’s one more little quirk in a lifetime of quirks anyway?