Spent a good Saturday at Hrafnhildur Arnardottir’s wee exhibition at tucked away Fruit and Flower Deli. Such bright, touching pieces of hair. We fell for the slumped tucked pair of extra-long tights perched in the window with their skraggley poking tufts and a sock on the end. How easy it can seem to evoke humanity and empathy in fragile inanimate shapes but still sometimes it is glorious.
I went to an antique shop today with my mum. I wasn’t looking to buy. neither was she. We were both looking to look. As we left it turned out we’d been struck by the similar thoughts about the melancholy of it all. It was clear that many homes of the dead had been bought and organized and polished and cleaned and ordered together. Many many people’s lives. Their gathered dreams and desires and gifts and everyday. 8 gilded clocks on a wall. 18 big ceramic jugs with the same Höganäs design. 4 handpainted little china saucers and only 3 cups. I recognized things from my mums and my childhood home. My mum recognized things from her parents home and things she coveted when she was newly married. All of these precious things together could no longer be adequately precious. As precious as their owners deserved. People made their choices and lovingly curated their lives. Afterward we can see that they wanted many of the same things, lived different flavors of the same thing. Ended eras upon eras leading into our era which too will lead to another era where all that remains are the things we loved while we could.