My Transmutable Bench

In the middle of a storm, commonplace things change. My bench for instance. When building a piece for a deadline, my recognizable bench becomes a place of chaos, a haven for every tool, every piece of scrap wood, for every note and drawing, dull tool, and a ready to hand assortment of screws and sandpaper, most of which I will not use. A place for everyone and everything. Emptying it will take days.  It becomes not just a symbol of my own tumult. It is a signal of the state of my mind. Seemingly hundreds of items collect across it at once and I am able mostly, if no one disturbs the clutter, to find the things I need in order to build. But it is transformed before my eyes. It is a tableau of my life, of my mind. It is stunning and I say it is a sign of intelligence with so many “ideas” strewn about.

You on the other hand may find it vaguely recognizable if true.

Bench tumultous

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