Church sales are, in this amalgamation of predominantly random rants, occasionally cogent collected thoughts, eminent. For any individuals, boy or girl, guy or doll, gentleman or lady, who fancy themselves a connoisseur of costume jewelry and have not attended at least one church bazaar, I shake my proverbial head. Wrought with wrinkled and dotty old ladies, volunteering and vaguely helpful, some of the best and cheapest pieces of ridiculous costume jewelry, most likely formerly in the wardrobe of one of the wandering, church-going women who now wear their drooping neck-skin as statement, have been discovered in the basement of a strange neighborhood church. While I certainly benefit from the copious treasures that are bound to be unearthed, typically, I feel no guilt about spending money at these sales either, knowing that the money either funds new wooden pews or is donated.
These bronze leaves were attractive to me for how different they are from the rest of my collection; delicate and, like some of my other favorite pieces, a sublimation of organic and artifice. Small pearl embedded just in the crux of the fold, immediately evoking pools of dew, ephemeral globes of pure water on a plant pedestal, waiting to dissipate in the warming sun.
Thursday evening relaxation soundtrack: Instrumentals Clams Casino
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