The Telling Box

Six words describing myself. That's an easy enough assignment. Within minutes I had the words written down with such certainty and clarity. Here is what I wrote: Layered, Smile, Laughter, Open, and Calming. Hmmm.. that is only 5 words. I cannot seem to remember the sixth. (Insert here a bashful grin followed with a helpless shrug).

Nonetheless, the adjunct assignment was to create a visual piece, utilizing a box, expressing these self-proclaimed words. I immediately began cutting and pasting, twisting and poking, pulling out my hair and then re-focusing; partaking in the natural evolution of the creative process. Thinking like an architect, my idea was to create vignettes within the interior which would be viewed through little doors and windows.


"Five more minutes," I heard from somewhere beyond the studio walls. "How could this happen", I thought. I spent so much time on the cute little details. In the end, it still looked like a router box with sloppy craftsmanship. Hurriedly, I slapped on a collage of colored paper and tied a wire to the flap to limit the view from above. Out of breathe, I ran into the room and placed my box next to others. Sitting back, I looked at it and thought "What a waste, this box does not even look like me."

Under speculation, the very first comment was, "For someone who claims to be open, the wire is a confusing gesture." My automatic response was, " Sure, I used the wire so that people would not see how horrible the construction of the interior was."

YES, I said this with a straight face.

Collaborative sounds of,"uh huh", ensued.

And so what? What could it possibly mean that I cannot remember the sixth word? And so what if I look at a box and think of a house? And that I forgot about the exterior? And that I cleverly, mind you, prevented the box from being pried open? So what? None of this could possibly mean anything really.

"What a stupid project", I decided. How could we be asked to put ourselves in a box?!