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My Washing Machine

Ok, so here it goes, I'm slightly obsessed with my washing machine.

I know, I know, I admit, that sound's absurd, maybe even slightly deranged. But, the fact is that there is a certain artistic beauty to this mechanical wonder. It's not that I care about how it works, or any of it's technical details at all. In fact, those things don't intrigue me in the least.

What I am fascinated by, and with, is it's performance. I love to sit in front of the little window, waiting intently for the show to follow the minute I push the start button, to witness a spectacular art piece every time it plays. Each performance unique and just for me, an audience of one.

I watch intently as the clothes tumble about, spinning slowly, purposely, displaying their different colors, their unique textures, sometimes wet, sometimes dry. All of these cycles never repeating in the exact same manner as they've already performed, not once. Each show entirely different and special and just as fascinating.

The "glip glop glip glop" sound hypnotizing me as the wet clothes make their way around the drum, banging out a lovely rhythm, perfectly synchronized with the vibrant and wonderfully abstract colors of the various blouses, t-shirts and jeans being shown to me through the viewing port.

The slow spin, turning into a fast send off of the performers within the drum, turning the clothes from an ever changing abstraction into a very quick disappearing act. All of it turning away from my prying eyes, as if readying itself for the next performance for it's interested audience of one. The machine spinning the hidden clothes until ready to surrender it's finale for my applause, clean and dried .

I wonder to myself, shall I take this show on the road? Instead of the lovely performance for me, should I share it with the rest of the world? I could display the washing machine within the white walls of an art gallery, place it's settings on an infinite loop of wash, attach speakers to amplify the fantastic sound of the "glip glop" so that the audience can feel it through their chest. I could sit back and watch them wonder, consider and enjoy. I think, would they see what I see? Would they find the beauty, the art, in the mundane as I do?

And then I think, no, this is my performance, and mine alone. They can go seek their own art anywhere else, in anything else. Maybe your blender has a show to put on with her churning blueberries, bananas and milk, while purring and whirring for your sole attention. Or possibly, another inanimate object is sitting around your home, just waiting for imaginative release, to tell a story, to make a bold creative statement.

Really, if you just allow your inner child, that small person lurking around within you, to just look at the world differently, with a unique perspective, an open mind, even if for a short while, there's a pretty incredible performance to be had just about anywhere...

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