Strange Found Objects
I walked through the woods in my parents' backyard today, searching for turkey feathers to use in a monoprint.
I haven't been back there in ten years at least, though I dream about it every month or so. In my dreams the woods extend for miles. They have winding rivers, and wild animals that press their noses to my parents' plate glass kitchen window.
In real life the woods are pretty pedestrian: a half-mile strip of old-growth trees on the crest of the hill, with a bare patch where the power lines run through. I found the turkey feather I was looking for, plus a bright blue bottle (broken) and a rusty hunk of cast iron.
I lugged the iron home and showed my dad.
"What do you think this used to be? A sculpture, maybe?"
My dad looked it over. "It's the leg of an old sewing machine table," he said. And he was right.
God knows how long it's been there, or how it got lost in the woods. Dad says maybe it was tossed in an old dumping ground, then worked its way to the surface. Strange to think of it out there all those years, being trampled by turkeys and deer. Maybe I stepped over it, too, when I played in those woods as a kid, twenty years ago. Maybe it was waiting for me to find it all along.
Maybe I'll turn it into a sculpture.