In an hour or two our resident taxidermist will arrive, stuff us in his car and deposit us ready to catch the Falcon and thence aloft and south. Can't wait. Have to though.
Which gives me time to ponder the last few weeks and to once again cast ones eyes over rooms now devoid of Christmas decoration and clutter. In such circumstances it is hard to avoid letting ones eyes rest upon a gift from some very dear friends. Not that all our friends aren't dear, they are but its' unexpectedness and curious shape when wrapped drew attention to itself whilst resident under the tree with a mountain of regular shapes and usual colours.
It's unwrapping revealed .....
Now, it has been in mind pretty much constantly and currently resides on a bookcase between an Avocet and an Oystercatcher, slightly to the left of a Russian doll.
It is obviously a hook constructed from a fork and mounted on a piece of driftwood.
I have looked at this, handled it, pondered it. Smiled at it. Found myself lying awake wondering who ate with that fork and where. What they ate and with whom. How many have used it? Is there any significance in the twisted tines? What former was used to make the hook but above all why, oh why use a pozidrive No.2 screw that isn't perfectly lined up instead of an old brass slotted one?
The driftwood looks like it was once a pallett which implies that it is not as old as the fork would appear but one wonders where it has drifted, how many times it has ben washed ashore, how often carried for a while as its damp tactile surface was explored by lazy fingers before being slung back from where it had almost escaped. How often has it been kicked along a beach, used as a target for small stones in small hands, been absently or even studiously examined and discarded again before eventually falling into the hands of someone who saw beyond the immediate?
Over the past week or two this little object has been carried about, held aloft, positioned in many places, looked at from most angles and contemplated from places not usually mentioned in polite blogs. But I can't make up my mind where to put it. It ought to be on the kitchen door from which an apron should be hung.
It is an admirable piece and deserves to be admired but what concerns me is how to use it. Even to the point of removing the thoroughly modern offset screw and fixing it to the door sans driftwood with an old brass screw that I just happen to have.
See what's happening here?
I find it surprisingly captivating. And ever so slightly annoying. It's a bent fork on a bit of driftwood. I've had loads of old forks none of which I've had the nous to bend rather than bin and loads of driftwood has come my way none of which has been used for much other than heat, apart from a few bits that fell together to form a picture frame in another life.
The bookcase seems a suitable place for it. For now.
Why have I never had the inclination to do what David H Wright BA of Mockbeggar Wharf has done?
Because he is an artist and I a Philistine.
To be continued by the reader*
* The final line in "Ways of Seeing" by John Peter Berger (5 November 1926 – 2 January 2017)
No comments:
Post a Comment