when old things fall from the sky...

poor little box masquerading as a bird, as if fallen from the sky. while walking my dog yesterday, i found him, tattered and torn, covered with grime, in the bushes near my house. his appearance beside manicured lawns and gutters filled only with leaves was incredibly uncanny, as if a magical apparition. as he revealed his patina'd self to me, not just his colored box, but the sepia drawing leads within, i could not help but feel he'd not only fallen accidentally through space, but perhaps also through time. his birth, marked clearly on the box, in czechoslovakia, probably 50 plus years ago. and his cardboard body in tatters and soiled, only to prove the difficulty of this poor orphan's journey. he is now tucked away safely in the warmth of my studio, preparing himself towards some kind of alchemical transformation from sticks to marks, with the hope that at least a few of them just might be a bit beautiful... perhaps next week it will rain pencils, pushpins, or old small bottles of india ink...