As a child, I certainly had a lot of stuff--toys of various kinds, and most of all, stuffed animals. Graduating from such things in adolescence, I accumulated a very large number of books--so many, in fact, that since moving out, I've made at least three trips taking books from my father's house--and after the last two trips I mistakenly thought I had finished, only to be told by my younger sister (who still lives there) that, no, I still have another box of books (and would I please take it so it won't keep cluttering up the house even more than it is already).
Anyway, perhaps it's because of that experience that I have such a keen appreciation for not having things. During my college years, I used to wander through the aisles of Shopko (it's like Target), looking at all the nice things they had, and leaving satisfied and happy, having purchased nothing. It was good to be reminded that I already had everything I needed.
It's very nice being able to love beautiful things--lovely plates and bowls, towels and tablecloths, and especially the kind of art seen on a certain artist's blog,--and have no desire to possess them. To have rather an averse gut reaction to the idea of owning such things--because, though I am delighted that such things exist, it seems like having them would weigh me down, somehow.
But the problem is, sometimes I love things that almost everyone would consider garbage. And in that case, I would rather possess such an object than see it destroyed. And that, unfortunately, is a very bad principle to actually put into practice.
Rendering Toons in Iray: Featuring VAlzheimer
2 weeks ago