Seeing the door of a room and stopping, this is probably not such a good idea.
I stopped in my tracks as I saw that door. Entering the room no longer seemed like such a good idea.
It is prudent to not block a doorway or means of access.
After eyeing every member of the room, realising you know nothing about any of them.
Daily, we would spend hours looking each other up and down and every time I'd be struck by how little I knew the people I called cellmates.
It seems that noone in this room is known to me. What a shame.
Even though they are all your relations, relations of yours, you're probably no better than any of them.
Family or no family, we're all as bad as each other.
I look down on my extended family but, nonetheless, I do not perceive myself to be necessarily more worthy than any of them.
After a while a fondness has grown, even though you know it can only be a finite relationship.
My feelings for her are impossible to deny, but there's only ever going to be one outcome - tears.
I liked him, but knew I would not know him for long.
There is a perpetual circle between nature and culture, or at least our perception of the two. I stand within this ring and become dizzy, trying to follow the ever-changing relationship between my environment and myself. As soon as I fix my gaze on a landscape it fills with objects that have more significance than my immediate perception of them allows; when I approach an object, landscapes are evoked.
How can I reconcile an object with its history? Equally, how can I achieve a reconciliation of my own history with the objects with which I surround my self? Wood surrounds me. It houses me. It is a tool that I have obtained from nature, a nature which has long been controlled by a culture. Whether a piece of found wood is older than me chronologically is unimportant. It is always already older in character. But progressive design still sees wood as a future material.
When I idolize Wood, I am idolizing a tool that has already been used; its life as it was intended is over. By idolizing Wood I am writing a tale that connects my self with my environment. This signifies an attempt to return to the world of perception: by using my surrounding world (objects), I am connecting to the environment by inhabiting, rather than looking down upon it.
The inherent fatality of an object made from wood goes unnoticed. By addressing this fatality I am underlining our own ignorance of the world that surrounds us.
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