For the artists.

 

I’m in love with objects of old. 

They tend to have a heart of their own, don't they?

They have been hit, broken, they are full of dirt, dust and paint, they have moved to places and seen many people. They have existed in winters and summers, in sunlights and darkness. How can one not be mesmerized by that beauty. How can one not be consumed by the endurance and experience of an object that’s been used a thousand, a million times?

I have this tripod for painting. It’s 10 years old. It’s a tripod for outside painting. It folds and turns and changes size and shape. Very light, made of very fragile wood. This tripod has travelled with me in 7 homes, 6 forests, 4 cities, 2 countries and counting. Its legs are a bit stretched. I need to spend some time to figure out where everything needs to go to stabilize it. It's full of different colors of paint, the main skeleton is croocked, and the screws are hardly holding onto the legs. When I think that I might have to buy a new one, a pain in my chest starts, as if I was losing a child. Cause we have been through so much together. There has been so much pain inflicted into paintings that were drawn on this tripod, so much laughter and dancing that affected billions of strokes of the brush. Drunken nights on the terrace with wine and smoke. My cat running around the legs and the tripod falling on the floor. And it was all so much fun. How can I leave behind all these beautiful memories that come to my mind every time I use this tripod? How can I forget the sound of the nightbirds while looking at the evening sky, with the stars and the moon being the only light I needed to paint? How can I forget the sun changing the tone of the colors while passing through my canvas? How can I forget all the paintings I made for people I fell in love with, on this very tripod?

This tripod and I have more history than what I have with most of the people I know. It’s not about having "things". It is not about fear of change. It is about the appreciation and calmness that comes from the durability of this tripod. As long as this tripod stands, I stand. It’s part of my soul, it’s an extension of my hands, a mean to visualize the mess and serenity of my brain.

And I never clean the paint from the tripod after I finish using it. Not because I don’t want it to endure, not because I don’t care. I care a lot. That is why all the paint and graphite left on the tripod is important to stay. They all tell a story. Without this mess, all of my sketches and paintings would be incomplete. The “finishing” touch is always on my tripod. Even though, my paintings can never be finished.. but that's a story for another time.

One day, I’ll get a car, or bike or anything. And I’ll put my tripod on my back and go far away to new adventures. And I would not have it any other way.