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| Silent soldiers ready to report for duty |
All the recycled wood I use carry memories of their own. Oh, what they must have witnessed. The stories they could tell. Much of it comes donated by local Vermont farmers. Or tradesmen. Or practical, no nonsense folk.
But I'm reminded of my great uncle's home. Or my family's hope chest in the attic. The summer camp (before remodeling). Walking trails as a kid in the woods....
Long gone memories jarred back to life while standing at my bandsaw, 'just doing my job.'
How is it that these scents can bring me to that time? Do you know what I mean? It's always a surprise when nostaglia joins me while I'm at work. Nice company.
7 comments:
Yes, Robin, I know what you mean. Old wood, old letters, old fabric all have such intoxicating scents. Where has this piece of wood/paper/fabric come from? Where's it been? Who worked on it last?
Yes. The hope chest in the attic was full of ancestral clothes. Old bureau drawers. Ands my father's letters...thanks for reminding me of other familiar places.
Robin, can you give me your personal email, I wondered if you might like to be a "guest artist" at my blog? Mary Shelley
yes Robin, this happens to me too. Sometimes takes me by total surprise.
Your blog is great!
Best, Ellen
Thanks Ellen. I was so disinterested in having anything to do with more computer stuff initially, but it's been quite an eyeopener and soul searcher. Not to mention fun! Who knew?
What a lovely phrase Robin- you release a waft of history! My grandfather built Queen Anne furniture and my great Uncle built Shaker furniture with recycled wood that they took from other projects. The scent sawdust and finish in their workspaces is still a vivid memory for me. Scent is a powerful trigger of so many things... The scent of hot sun on pine needles on a summer hike always remind me of my other uncle. Funny how the memories embedded with scents.
Funny that as a visual artist, the images of my memories almost turn yellow as I recall them- like in an old photograph- the older they are, the yellower, softer they get. Fading, but not forgotten. While a past familiar scent can bring that memory up abruptly - and clear - as if standing right in front of me.
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