Instructions on Constructing a Box
Paper
Scissors
Glue
Maybe Glue
Unless your practice
Is from the folding tradition
Folding
Making trim and even
Crisp clean lines
The intention is to
Enclose
Envelop
Enslave
To keep tight
To carry with
To separate from
To organize
I use boxes in
The least organized sense
Carelessly thrown
Papers, photos, receipts
The shoes with worn heals
Not good enough to give away
But still not able to throw out
Notebooks
With hearts in the margins
When making a box
Material is important
How malleable is it?
How easily will it accept
The maker’s folds?
If it is paper
A two dimensional plan
It takes the creases easily
No resistance
But will crush
Become damaged
Eventually fail.
If it is made from wood
It may stand up
Certain for a while
But to acquire the shape
The tree
Must be killed
Stripped
Manipulated
Polished
But storms wear its
Strength down
By rains and wind
If fire rages through
Its delicate cells
It will evaporate
Into essence
Released from its load
Stone may be impervious to fire
And winds
Softly smooth out its edges
But it must be rendered
From the earth
And tamed with
Chisels and files
And only a fragment
Is left of
Its former weight
So a paper box
A shadow
An essence that contains
Which is hidden
Which presses up against
The desire to be seen.
Saturday Morning in Bed
Savannah, GA
8:36am
23 January 2010
Scissors
Glue
Maybe Glue
Unless your practice
Is from the folding tradition
Folding
Making trim and even
Crisp clean lines
The intention is to
Enclose
Envelop
Enslave
To keep tight
To carry with
To separate from
To organize
I use boxes in
The least organized sense
Carelessly thrown
Papers, photos, receipts
The shoes with worn heals
Not good enough to give away
But still not able to throw out
Notebooks
With hearts in the margins
When making a box
Material is important
How malleable is it?
How easily will it accept
The maker’s folds?
If it is paper
A two dimensional plan
It takes the creases easily
No resistance
But will crush
Become damaged
Eventually fail.
If it is made from wood
It may stand up
Certain for a while
But to acquire the shape
The tree
Must be killed
Stripped
Manipulated
Polished
But storms wear its
Strength down
By rains and wind
If fire rages through
Its delicate cells
It will evaporate
Into essence
Released from its load
Stone may be impervious to fire
And winds
Softly smooth out its edges
But it must be rendered
From the earth
And tamed with
Chisels and files
And only a fragment
Is left of
Its former weight
So a paper box
A shadow
An essence that contains
Which is hidden
Which presses up against
The desire to be seen.
Saturday Morning in Bed
Savannah, GA
8:36am
23 January 2010