There could be so many titles for this post: “Making permanent objects in a world of impermanence” “The human condition of transcendence” “It is all in your mind” “Objects, so many objects”.
Objects. I make objects, functional absurd and glorious vessels that deserve love and respect and time. The ceramic material is so permanent but so fragile and 5000 years from now with the nurdles of plastic and toxic seas there the shards of my inert creations will be, fragments of immortal caribou and elk prefossilized in porcelain. Still, I am writing this via a computer in a very impermanent interface, there is nothing solid or tangible about all this data made up of glitches and numbers and code. There is nothing tangible about the external hard drives of music and miscellany- memories all will be lost. My SD card on my camera says 555 photo files are corrupt and I many no take more nor upload the existing ones, yet I can view them on my camera. It has been this way a whole month, and so I have stopped taking photos. This is no way to live. Like when you are in a dugout canoe in the Amazon and look at your snazzy camera and think- hmm how many minuets till you’re in the drink? But you have to take your camera aboard, you just have to. When will I press the delete button and reformat, surrender the visual memories that my less than perfect mind, a thing in constant flux, will blur and forget? Lost are the brilliant fall colors seen from the helicopter and the fierce eyes of the bear in the dusk and the snaking curve of the Athabasca as it wanders south. I suppose that is why we write, why we should write more. But fire and moisture will claim our words and so we must speak and talk and tell tales. Until then, when I at last manage to tell you, here is a photo- made of glitches and numbers and code, worth a thousand words.