This is about a house

This is about a house, lazy mornings spent there in around and about. Minutiae hiding in the corners, like a memory lost and found. I did not realize that the years had left such a trace on the thoughts or my memories. And I get caught off guard by the similarities found there in (between my expectations and remembrances). My head in the corner, beneath south and namely east facing windows. In the fall bird-noise filled my room, am I here or where I was last year? A wall bluer than moderated shades of my parents’ house, my parents’ farm- is that place my home any more? My life, the remainder of multiple moves and wanderings hides here and there, waiting to arrive and simultaneously to go. A home or a house finds a part of its soul in the previous residents. Let’s dwell in a place of new-oldness. All of the objects in this 3d pictorial were found in my house, 213, or my street, Chestnut Ave. None of the objects were purchased, making the total monetary investment = zero. The result is a project that was not created with money, but with effort and attention, a slightly ridiculous zygote and laughter. Home house place of birth internal home-based household intuition an institution. How does home get defined? Abode, habitat, residence, quarters, domicile, or address. It embodies all of these at different points, just as the residents have different needs and desires. The house is built by human effort; people are shaped by past experiences. I am the product of my parents’ youth. Judgments and successes that define them, divine me. The found products in the 3d pictorial include pulp from the 1950’s and 1960’s: the breeding ground of my parent’s sensibilities. What they chose to use from their past experiences, hopes, dreams, wonderments, memories, bruises, feedback loops, and nervous reflexes depends on intimate sensory experience. These pieces are mobile and aging. Push and play, lose and find, these are the days of your life, my life, the lives of everyday. Don’t stand beside yourself- get both hands muddy, then take your shoes off. If possible this 3d pictorial will get you off your ass, out of your seat, beyond the doorframe, away from your cellphone, and into the whatever weather of your world (maybe only for a moment). What do we need in order to reinvest ourselves in our everyday lives? What do we need in order to recognize that these are the days of our lives? These days are our lives. This day is my life. Only this day is Mine.

Laureli Mallek

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