Together, we recorded [the story] into many forms -- computer printed, handwritten, cassette tape, CD, DVD. Each copy was then torn, cut, or shattered into small fragments, which were then distributed into each piece of jewelry, along with assorted other pieces of information. When you buy a "Valentines" piece, you get fragments of the story in a bottle, a hardcopy of the full story, and the knowledge that you are supporting fascinating new forms of storytelling and collaboration. Each bottle is wrapped in silver wire and accented with Swarovski crystal, matte glass beads, and tiny silver beads. No two are alike, and each bottle contains different fragments of the story. The series will be available until we run out of story fragments.
2 5/8" (67 mm) high, 1 3/4" (45 mm) wide. Story by Shira Lipkin, jewelry by Kythryne Aisling.
This piece will have something in it that no other piece in the series does. Shh. It's a surprise.
Retail value is $150.00. Bidding starts at $19.99.
Click here to bid!
The waiter’s name is Valentine. He has long, slim fingers, and he writes down my order instead of pretending to commit it to memory. I like that, his pen on the paper bringing forth one simple thing about me. My lunch. Just a tiny fragment of information. I honor him by doing the same. “The waiter’s name is Valentine,” I write in my battered notebook, “and he has long, slim fingers.”
Information is sacred. I don’t remember why, or who told me. But I know that information is sacred, so I write it down, scraps of knowledge and observations. I used to write in leatherbound journals with elegant heavy pens, but the fetish for elegance has fallen by the wayside in my rush to commit everything to paper. Now I use cheap marbled composition books, purchased by the dozen. The pen is still important, though. It must write in smooth lines of black, not catch on the page. There is too much to capture.
I order chai tea and butternut squash soup. I write that down as well, just after Valentine does. I watch him walk to the kitchen, slender and graceful, and I wonder what Valentine does when he is not refilling coffee mugs. I wonder if he dances. I write that down: “Perhaps Valentine dances.” I watch him flirt with the barista, their movements around each other a careful ballet of hot espresso and soup and witty banter, and I curl up in my armchair and wrap my hands around the mug of tea when Valentine brings it to me with his usual smile and nod. I observe. I record.
I write on the bus, on my way home. I write about the bus driver, and about the woman sitting across from me, wearing a too-heavy jacket (“perhaps she is sick”). I write about the barista and the patterns of her movement around the large copper espresso machine, the way she admires her reflection. When I get home, I carefully tear the pages from my notebook, and I tear fact from fact, isolating each bit of information, and I file them accordingly in the rows of small boxes nailed to my walls. Miniature pigeon coops filled with paper instead of birds. Facts. Ways to build the world. I copy things over when necessary, when I must file “perhaps Valentine dances” under both Valentine and Speculation. I must separate speculation, after all. My shreds and fragments of information comprise my image of Valentine (for example). I cannot allow speculation to color that. I can allow his grace, but not the possibility of his dancing.
With enough data, maybe I can figure out the world.
Welcome to Blogathon 2009!
Current total: $1,062.24 out of my goal of $3K. Sponsor me!
And so begins our 24 hours of madness. Every half hour, I'll post storybits, poetry, and auctions to raise money for BARCC. This will get really amusing around hour 20. Heh.
Enjoy! In my next post, I'll continue "Valentines" and introduce Team Venture!