It Is About Time The Big Apple Had Some Decent Benches

I went to a coffee shop today and ordered a decapitated Al Pacino but I got a decaffeinated cappuccino. I didn't bother sending it back because I was celebrating and there weren't nothing gunna to change my good mood. 

The benches at which I have been hacking away are complete! Not only do they look amazing but I still have all eleven fingers.

They are made from wood I bought from a very creepy dude, next to some train tracks, who could twist my head off like a bottle cap if he wanted. His arms looked like legs with hands that grew from where his neck was supposed to be and his thumbs were like well seasoned iron skillets. He had a mustache that grew over his lip, between the gaps in his teeth and, as far as I could tell, right down his throat. That freakin' guy!

The exciting part is that they will be showcased at the Armory Show in NYC March 3-6. If you are in the neighborhood you should stop by and sit on one. The 56" length gives the book matched slats in the middle a nice little bounce. I want to keep all four of them. They will be in the lobby.  If you show me a picture of you on one and I will send a free t shirt!!

It is all reclaimed pallet wood. Below is a picture of the pile.

Wabi Sabi vs Crapsmanship

My self serving and manipulative understanding of Wabi Sabi has gotten me out of more than a few tight spots.  Wabi Sabi is not a panty dropping mustard and peach schnapps shot but an aesthetic that lauds the beauty of imperfection.  A crack in a tea pot, a nicely misshapen circle, a broken spider's web.  This works well with the unique personality of my craftsmanship.  There was a time when a craftsman would try to make something so perfectly that it looks like it was made by a machine.  Well, I am changing all that.  Flaws tell stories while perfection is sterile and bleak.  That is why I strive for imperfection and darn it if I haven't done a good job so far.  I mean, when I make something you can really see the craftsmanship. There is a lot of craftsmanship in each piece. Tons of it. 

The question is how far can I go?  When does the beauty of imperfection turn ugly? Having a checked piece of wood (wood with little cracks in it) is one thing but what about a stupid idea? How about an honest mistake or some good old fashioned laziness?  Fine artists get away with it all the time, why shouldn't designers?  

Remember these Coors cans?  Finger slicers. 

So dumb that it's beautiful?

My next year's New Year's resolution might be to try to be a little less perfect and a little more beautiful.  Either that or try to stop cramming crumpled bills into my pockets when I buy a pack of sunflower seeds with a 20.  

What not to do

My stupid cousin hacked my precious blog and I can't get this video off of it.  Sorry.

Ahem Meyham, Where Is My Catalyst?

Quitting smoking is like living without punctuation.  I'm not talking about the convenient absence precipitated by the advent of texting.  Oh no! I wish my lack of interval was a matter of efficiency and convenience.  Instead, my days feel like more of a run-on sentence with no end in sight.
A plottless streaming volubilithon.  Forilla.

I need to form a new segue. Chokers used to catalyze my efforts and now I have a wall to jump over every time I switch tasks. And that is a frequent occurrence when you have an attention span of a moth.

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