Reverence For Reference
Reams of paper, freshly cut and centuries old, bound by twine and gut and cotton and glue scattered across the myriad of space. Each a portal in time and through, unique like the wormholes that dotted them. Bound in the leather and cardboard and cloth or left wholly untenured. The books lay scattered about the favorite room of Sonja - her grandparent’s library.
No one else she knew had what they would call a library. There were bookshelves, sometimes a desk with scattered papers. But this room was one of working knowledge. Her grandmas still came here everyday to read, write, sketch, paint, design, think, contemplate and plan. They’d scale the shelves, or be buried under a blanket. They were never far from their books and their work.
And Sonja loved it. The room was as much a memory of them as it was its own thing. Their scents and encounters so mingled together that Sonja struggled to separate the two. To the point when she had to write an essay for school about a role model or hero she ended up talking about her grandmas and their library and the work they did in their.
Today’s art is courtesy of Karl Sisson from Wellington, New Zealand.