November 20th, 2005

(no subject)

i went to a mill building today. in that mill building partitioned spaces are rented by local artists. as their shops, they are adorned wall to wall with the tools of their crafts: chisels, brushes, jigs, lenses, chairs. upon entering the mill a myriad of scents riddled the hallways with various chemical musks. aerosol sprays and oil paints, sawdust and metal scrapings all lingered pregnantly, gradiating from one to the next. with no apparent organization, each tenant had their doors jammed open to the public, proudly displaying ornate works from temporary partitions and stacked carelessly in the corners, awaiting a casual flipping-through. the artists themselves casually lounged in their dwellings, weary looking from a long weekend of hosting the curious masses.

last year was my first visit. i thought that trip was more substantial. it was new, and it was more populated. this year there was only one truely interesting artist with whom i spoke, an old woodworker on the fifth floor. he showed me a design in which four quardrants of wood were pressed together tightly, and then laythed with design, only to be inverted and again laythed, creating a magnificant finished inward design of previously impossible to fathom mastery.

such a community of artists is really fantastic to me. i don't suppose their community is as open and shared as it seems on a timed, open period such as an annual open house, but it must be lovely to have such an environment upon which to base such an event. living in a similar environment amongst strangers, i often wonder what life would be like if everyone i knew lived in this mill building. wouldn't people be more social, more communicative? would everyone's life be better if all we needed to talk was a walk down the hallway?

perhaps it wouldnt. everyone is well-linked with instant messenger clients and personal internetworked stations, but it's even a hassle to say a simple "hello" most days. it's difficult to create social networks without giving up resources. you can always host dinner to facilitate a network, but a zero energy model is impossible to maintain for long.

i bet time feels slower in that old mill building of salmon falls village. i hope that someday i myself have a daily requirement to ingress a similarly old structure. as i start to get older, the paths ahead of me all go in the same direction. they all tend towards a destination beyond the horizon i cannot plainly see, but know the paths all track a respect for simple things that are done well.

as my own life becomes more simple, these simple things become more easily understood and their attainability seems more presentable. as i become poorer, the trivial things in my life come to the forefront and the forefront escapes to the trivial. cars, fancy dinners and electronical things have sharply faded away, and in place are only a vacant respect for basic things, awaiting my tenancy. at first i was not looking forward to these changes, but as they force their way into my life, i find myself starting to pull them closer, embracing them, relishing them.

i suppose i don't have a point to all of this, nor was one required. i had a quiet sunday with good friends, and little more was asked of it. i hope my random internet friends had one just as comforting.