Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Dear Table & Easel,

When I graduated from High School (waaaay back in the 90's), it was decided (in my very young, very naive head) that I was going to be an artist, and take it very seriously. My mom and dad bought me an art table - a real art table. The kind you see everywhere, at every art store. Well, needless to say, my table was set up immediately, in the living room (that the six of us shared) at home. I used it every day, very proudly, very "importantly". That's where I sat and (tried) to teach myself everything I've come to know today. I love that table, we've been through everything together. I see wonderful, old, sturdy beautiful wood tables now and then that I would love to have and use as a professional artist, but the thought of buying a new table and replacing MY table - breaks my heart. This one is the one for me.

In the summer after graduation, when I CERTAINLY did not know how to paint, I guess I felt I needed an easel. I don't know how it came about, but my Grampa ended up giving me all his saved up change (he did not have much money at all anyway) to buy myself an easel. I went to Aaron Brothers, and picked out the easel that suited my needs and that fell into the budgeted jar of change. (This sounds so silly - like I was 7 years old - no, I was 18 - I told you, naive) I immediately set it up (in the living room), and tried to paint. I very soon got frustrated, gave up on paint, packed up my easel and set it out in the garage. For years. I still have that easel, it's the very same one I taught myself how to paint with (or on), and the very same one I use today (all these years later). Again, I see lovely strong easels, high as the sky and built to get beat, but the thought of buying a new one and replacing mine - breaks my heart.

This table and easel are run of the mill, nondescript pieces to the average person, but to me, they are my life. And now, with both my mom and my grampa gone, they mean so much more to me than ever. I wish they were here, so I could thank em, and they could see (after all the years) that I understand just what they gave me.


  1. Apart from the memories and stories attached to personal inanimate objects, I feel more comfortable around (architectural etc) imperfection in general, because it has so much more character. There's nothing worse than that "modern", cold and impersonal feeling that lingers around a place which has been upgraded to the limit! At the risk of sounding higly pretentious, there's a poem by Hilda Doolittle that I think pretty accurately describes the joy behind imperfection - It justifies my sentimentality towards personal effects!:

    And indeed, I do sound pretentious!