The original article is in French, so I am at a loss for reading the words. But as they say, a picture is worth a thousand of them so I can be content to absorb those instead. A friend posted a video about the gallery of an artist named Thomas Deininger. From a distance each piece is identifiable.... a fish, Starry Night, a woman's eyes. Yet as you zoom in closer it becomes obvious that instead of paint, or clay, or some other conventional medium the substance is rummaged from the contents of your junk drawer. Broken spatula handles, action figures, plastic parts. 

 

It seems perplexing that recognizable beauty can be attributed to trash. But there it is. If one video is not convincing enough, you can scroll through a few more. When the camera explores the depth of layers that go into each three dimensional piece of art, and I cough to slather that word on so much garbage but I have no choice, it adds to the incredulity of it all.

 

One of the videos begins up close and then pulls back. This is more like my life. The details of this day, when you tease it apart is a loose collection of unrelated parts. I tossed a load of laundry in, then forgot about it. The lone muffin from last night is not warm, but still helps to fill my tummy. The text from Benjamin's companion saying that he yelled yesterday is disconcerting, and I am not sure how best to respond. The stack of mail both pertinent and not sits on my desk waiting for attention. 

 

Yet the thirty second video is a synopsis of what my life and probably yours will show up as from a higher view. Isolated efforts to provide nourishment for my family. Years of plodding through mundane chores because it is a gesture of love. Wrestling with the perplexing needs of people I adore.  Sorting through the stream of information, and weeding out what is superfluous, saving what matters. 

 

All the sloppy bits will find their place, not because I could see it from my perspective of four inches out, but because the Artist could.