Object No. 10
I bought this music box in a shop in Europe years ago as I was thoroughly lost in daydreams and the mind numbing realization that there were so many places in this world to get lost in. Surrounded by unfamiliar walls and unknown languages it felt as though I would never run out of ways to get lost both physically and emotionally. The world felt infinite, comforting and intimate.
This was just before the hysteria of smart phones took over our lives. If I remember correctly, I was carrying the recently released first generation of iPhone with me which went mostly untouched during the trip. While it was a cool device, my world didn’t revolve around it, I didn’t feel the need to be connected at all times and share constantly to keep everyone in the loop. I simply wandered the streets of Paris, Vernazza, London, anywhere the train let me off, camera in hand, no expectations or specific destination, only a sense that the world could go on forever if I kept walking forward.
No matter how much time passes there are ghosts from these places where I felt lost that cling themselves onto melodies, colors, light, objects, anything. They wait patiently for their chance to appear and haunt my thoughts for a time. Some of them grow weak and leave me be after a while but others hang on tight, grip strong and steady as I go about my day.
The melody these metal prongs play is one which echoes in a white room with a door to any number of different outcomes. It was during this trip that I learned to never underestimate the creative power of being lost and the lasting impact it could have if I continued to take chances and never settle on anything outside of what I was honestly passionate for.
Living a life with risks and always staying curious enough to wonder what is around the next bend in the path ahead has lead me on amazing adventures and taught me valuable lessons about myself and the world we live in. It’s easy to fear that first step into the void but the regret of not taking it is something you can’t take back.
Over here in the UK, we would call one of those things a “hurdie gurdie”. Don’t ask me why…