Driving across expanse landscape and a muddied countryside, my mind takes on a different speed, inhales a different breath of unencumbered ease. Clouds fall away and I’m left with a distant vision of jagged peaks in a mountainous sky :: the most obvious thing I cannot make in this world, the most obvious thing that makes me feel that I am myself, made.
Because, lately, I’ve experienced a pleasurable shift that has left my maker eyes more open to the world. I dissect doorknobs and fixtures, wonder if the creator used an adhesive and if so, what kind. I piece parts of tables and feel for textures in fabric pieces. I am a student of craft, and art fabrication, and community.
I think it’s kind of the same thing that happens when you allow yourself to be the student of wander and awe. Doorknobs become delicate, and mountains become mystical, and we realize we’ve been makers, all along.
m a k e r bee, what do you see? a doorknob guilded, a light burned bright? a pallet once discarded, now a guardian in the night. do you note the imperfect? woven knots on a tree? m a k e r bee, most importantly, do you remember to notice me?
hug -abigone- j