After a quiet moment in the closet staring at the blank space, I set to work our "US" altar. I shuffled through the candy tin that serves as my photo album and found a blurry snapshot of the two of us from high school--both of our eyes are closed. Then I found the "CONEY ISLAND IS FOR LOVERS" postcard from our trip to New York this past summer and a wrinkly ticket stub from "Edward Scissor Hands: The Ballet" which we attended in St. Paul two springs ago. While I looked at the glossy ticket I smiled as I recalled crying when the music swelled and snow suddenly started falling slowly from the auditorium ceiling. I realize it was only lights and costumes, but I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment. I placed a few glistening snail shells on the shelf--shells we found while shifting through wet sand at the cottage. As I arranged the scraps of paper, trinkets, string and travel artifacts I thought about how much we've evolved since we were scared seventeen-year-old kids, how many strange cities had seen us stumbling around in the wee hours of the morning, and fancied where we might be headed. I lit the candles and stepped back to view the work, savoring a small, silent celebration for us.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
An Altar for Us: Art for My Muffin
After a quiet moment in the closet staring at the blank space, I set to work our "US" altar. I shuffled through the candy tin that serves as my photo album and found a blurry snapshot of the two of us from high school--both of our eyes are closed. Then I found the "CONEY ISLAND IS FOR LOVERS" postcard from our trip to New York this past summer and a wrinkly ticket stub from "Edward Scissor Hands: The Ballet" which we attended in St. Paul two springs ago. While I looked at the glossy ticket I smiled as I recalled crying when the music swelled and snow suddenly started falling slowly from the auditorium ceiling. I realize it was only lights and costumes, but I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment. I placed a few glistening snail shells on the shelf--shells we found while shifting through wet sand at the cottage. As I arranged the scraps of paper, trinkets, string and travel artifacts I thought about how much we've evolved since we were scared seventeen-year-old kids, how many strange cities had seen us stumbling around in the wee hours of the morning, and fancied where we might be headed. I lit the candles and stepped back to view the work, savoring a small, silent celebration for us.
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