I've noticed a prevailing them in my work---Taking something insignificant and elevating it to a level of importance.
After all, it is quite arbitrary and subjective as to what art really is?
What is beautiful?
What is important?
This is my entryway. The table is a magical and memorable table from my Grandmother's house. On it sits a destroyed and haphazardly repaired (by her many years ago) porcelain cherub. I change the items on the plate to suit the season... or my whim.
I've found these amazing little boxes lately. Isn't it funny how you seem to find things in batches? As if the planets and stars all align in some weird, "stunning box" order? Two are old prescription boxes from an extinct Iowa pharmacy. One is an antique 'mourning pins' box from Germany. And the lovely little jewel box--- with a mother of pearl button--- you push it and the top springs open. Bugs from my friend, Mark, at Decorum.
Nothing valuable.
Something precious.
Under an old glass department store display,
Because they're important to me.
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