I enjoy the marks of civilization. Of our waste, of our triumph, of our defeats. That there might be a former owner with a tragic story, a TV that's just past its prime, or a broken heap that no one is going to pick up. Each item has a history of its own. From inventor to designer to trash, the life of an object is not without its own tale of how it arrived where it is. I'm always reminded of this as man made objects always seem so random, so out of place compared with nature's own grandiose plans. That we just drop things along a curb, entirely lacking circumstances of arrival makes each an exhibit for all. They are part of a web, but in this place they seem so removed from it. Did the designer realize that in the end, it was trash they were designing? That once the idea left their desk its fate was sealed, future landfill fodder. I suppose not, and maybe that's better.
jon
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