...I come across something I made long, long ago.
I wonder why I've kept it. It was part of something bigger way back when, but now?
It doesn't have a purpose and only means something because I, well, like it.
I especially like the table's imperfect legs.
And the wavy pencil lines.
And the way its glossed surface shines in certain light, like a real glass top table.
This all seems very silly when facing a studio that needs to be cleaned, purged, and organized.
But if I've learned anything, it's to keep space for curious bits and pieces.
So the little, painted table? It stays.