Wednesday, June 1, 2011


This is all that is left of a table I once owned. I broke it. It had been left on the street when I found it, returned to the street when I no longer needed it, and then I saw it yesterday down the street. Today, this was all that was left.

Is that significant or poetic? I don't know. I am obsessed with things and their histories. If the table didn't go into the trash, it might puzzle someone who ended up with it: what happened to that other leg?

I realize I have better things to do and accomplish besides speculating on the history of things. But it does forever amuse me. Perhaps the fact of having a history, even if I neither know it nor can imagine it, is like pheromones to my eyes and aesthetics. New things are so very "tabula rasa."

This green vase was pretty much a steal. It goes with my whole 1890s to 1930s decor, or at least the decor I am trying to cultivate. The design here is so reminiscent of calla lillies, no? Can't you just imagine some white gloved hands arranging these flowers.
I think these candlesticks are from an altar in a Catholic Church. They have bleeding hearts and Masonic symbols on them. They need to be cleaned up. 

Melissa found a completely cool black Bakelite clock. I found this porcelain number. Nice. Not sure if I will keep it or try to sell it.

I started reading Boccaccio's Decameron again. This is the opening line of the prologue:

"To take pity on people in distress is a human quality which every man and woman should possess, but it is especially requisite in those who have once needed comfort, and found it in others."

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