February 27, 2015
(This is part
of a 365 project during my 70th year where I write and illustrate a blog on
each day's gift.)
I found an old bronze something. Something because
I don’t know what it is. This small, old, brown, scratched piece of metal
stands alone, maybe intended to hold a small object. At first glance, it is rather
ugly. I was ready to dispose of it until
I tilted my hand and it caught the light in a particular way. The metamorphosis
was striking as I saw golds and blues on what had appeared at first to be a dull
scratched surface. How could I throw out something that was sometimes beautiful
when I held it a certain way? I never would have seen this patina unless I had
accidentally changed perspective.
Patina has several definitions according to the
Merriam-Webster dictionary:
- a usually green film formed naturally on copper and bronze by long exposure and often valued aesthetically for its color
- a surface appearance of something grown beautiful, especially with age or use
- an appearance or aura that is derived from association, habit or established character
Patina changed the way I looked at an object today. Sometimes, in
the same way, people are dismissed because they seem old, wrinkled and dull.
Maybe they appear one way in a certain light but, in a different light, their
beautiful patina shines. One Veteran’s Day in D.C., I began a conversation with
an old man in a wheelchair and wound up listening to a story of when he had
been captured by the Japanese during World War II. He was fascinating.
I hope as I age that my patina will grow. In the meantime, I
will remember to tilt my perspective so I won’t miss any patina, whether object
or human being.
My gift today is
patina.
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