About six weeks ago the thought occured: “Make an object.”
Obviously, from a certain perspective, there’s no shortage of objects. All the art is an object. These words and images on my screen are objects, which create another object in your mind. Thoughts are just subtle objects, which move and perpetuate themselves in even subtler ways.
But in this instance … I wanted to make a physical object. Something that could be held. Could be witnessed over and over. Most of what I make, even though it starts “physical,” is ultimately destined for digital consumption. And that’s ok, but I was feeling the pull to make something that would spend more time on the physical plane, in manifested existence.
Maybe I’m afraid to die. Who knows why, from where, these urges originate.
This desire to create an object also merged with the studio cleanout, and I decided to make frames for some of my small works. Which was an interesting decision, as I didn’t own the needed tools and had never made a frame before.
But after several weeks of effort and non-effort and trips to the hardware store, I offer you this sample of the objects … call it Batch Zero, perhaps …prototypes.
“Don’t make it perfect.” That was another thought that really stood out.
As I started getting into the process of making these little frames — learning to cut a 45 degree angle, repetition leading to understanding the need for precision, taking the time to cut a line that was actually straight — it became clear that you can really get lost in the precision of making things with wood. Shaving a 1/8 of an inch, and then another, and then too much and having to make the piece again … I realized the worst thing I could do would be to try and make something perfect. Because (1) I would then likely never finish anything; and (2) if I succeeded in making it perfect, then I’d need to find something else to do.
Getting something too right, too soon, can be a curse. Iteration is creation.
Framing these little pieces transforms them, somehow. It adds perspective and dimension. A mental frame appears, along with the wooden. I think the frame ultimately changes the object that is created in the mind.
And I feel good about the work that went into them. Cutting and glueing and staining and painting, attaching hardware … exploring, learning, trial and error and error ….
None of these pieces are perfect, or even close. Straight lines are in short supply. Explosions of wood glue led to uneven surfaces. Blemishes anound. Few of those right angles are right-right. There are patches and flaws, and enthusiasm masking as functionality.
So yeah, I’m really happy with them and have made them available in the shop. They feel real; they are real. They were made with care and intention and curiosity and creativity. That seems important.
You can read about each piece in the shop (including its flaws).
This has all opened up other questions about where the creative output really resides. Has the creation of physical form become an intermediate step between my mind and the digital world? Can I shift my focus more towards the tactile? Do digital and physical objects have different potential densities for connection? Different emotional carrying weights?
Questions for another day, maybe. It is fun to make things.
