I’ve always been super interested in things and the stories that they tell. Things themselves, I could take them or leave them, stories; however, are the stuff my world, (our world) is made off.
These shells, once inherited from my college roommate, Stevia, have become a staple decoration traveling with me from house to house to house.
I love the dried barnacles that decorate the shells, former homes of some sea creature, on top of a larger, also former home of some other, larger sea creature. Efficient in their use of space despite the vastness of the sea, where they once lived. I also love the cracked holes that provide a view into the soft, shiny orange insides of the calcified outside. A metaphor at it’s best.
And then there’s the turquoise blue bowls, designed to mimic the rough; yet, curved edges of a shell, the color of the sea, my favorite color. Left behind for me by a favorite person whose warmth, wisdom and beauty I recall and honor with their presence.
The shark teeth, also hers, found on her many walks down the beach, round out the sea theme – once rough, now smooth from the velocity and consistency of salt and force.
The rice is a symbol taken from a Buddhist tradition to offer food to the Gods, or in this case, to whatever I want it to feed…her memory; her soul; the sea creatures who lived in my shell; the shark whose teeth are gone.