Gift + Diorama

I love saying something was a gift. In the truthful sense there is a bit of a gloat. “Oh that thing you’re armiring, yeah someone thought so highly of me to just give that to me - FOR FREE”. There’s this immediate sense of untold backstory that I think often doesn’t get probed into. Most people leave the idea at that. Would I rather have gifts or be self made though? The idea of being handed what I need at first feels appealing but the lack of control and decision would be a struggle. Material achievement while often gaudy are sometimes quite grand. Our wedding and our first house. were both moment to this day I cannot fathom how we managed to save enough and acquire those. Now we are breaking, not quite broke, not house-less but being whittled down out of the sideshow act that is the middle class. A performance of illusion. Would I grant trust to a gift giver that provided a gift no strings attached? How much of my own dignity need be degraded and eroded away to trust so willingly. ‘

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In the soft light of dusk the world is a diorama, the washed square shingles of the neighbors house are brown again, their gray cinder block garage a dying blue. A cacophony of crows beckons to someone unknown, come hither, come wither, bring flesh, bring bone. The trees behind behave, branches snapping as someone crawls up. Were it not for my other senses my mind would have sworn the japanese maple in front of me was made of plastic for a still life diorama.