A Bottle of Inspiration
sweet-n-sour
Registrant
Around thirteen years ago, my husband purchased a wooden crate of old bottles from an antique store. Laying on the side, wedged near the bottom was an understated green bottle and to most it may not have been an eye catching sort of glass, but both husband and I decided it was special enough and definitely worth hanging on to.
In fact, I wrote a story using the bottle as a muse, photographed the bottle; worked with distorting the structure in Photoshop. The object itself ended up as a decorative accent on the nightstand next to my husbands side of the bed.
One night in the dead of darkness, my husband rolled over and his pillow went flying onto the nightstand. We were both startled awake by the sudden crash of breaking glass. When we turned on the lights, we found the bottle laying in a multitude of pieces scattered all over the floor. There had always been something mystifying about this bottle and even in shambles I simply could not part with it.
Instead of tossing it in the garbage and moving on, I asked my husband to place every precious shard inside of a box for later consideration.
I went about my routine as this box stood on my desk gathering dust. I wasnt sure if I was ready to face the reality of what to do with the box; so I worked around it, ignoring the broken contents.
Many weeks later, I opened the box. At first I toyed with the idea of making an abstract sculpture with an exploded bottle motif. (Sort of accepting that it would never in any form resemble what once was.)
Waiting for a surge of creativity, I pulled out my craft glue and gazed at the shattered pieces. It was then it struck me that not only did I understand the feeling of being shattered...the bottle in the manner for which it was devastated was symbolic of the state of the relationship between husband and myself.
With sheer determination, I began with the foundation piece at the base. It took precise consideration as I glued section after section, sliver after sliver. The strange thing was; with every puzzle-piece of glass that became reattached, I felt a lifting within my heart. It was as if the broken part of me was being mended right along with that bottle.
In the end, there were a few pebbles of glass that would forever remain imperfect, but it didnt bother me. Maybe that bottle will never exactly be the same, but then again; after such a breaking experience, none of us ever truly are. The best we can do is to work on reconstructing ourselves then move on.
I now gaze at the bottle with all of its flaws and you know what? The jagged cracks and missing gaps add to the character and make the glass all the more interesting. ..Its sort of like all of us who have faced a true crisis in our life and are in the process of mending.
Im keeping that old bottle on the shelf above my desk. It will always be a badge of inspiration for the struggles we face and the determination to overcome the toughest breaks in lifeand as Ive learned from that bottle and from my life with husband, it can be done.
In fact, I wrote a story using the bottle as a muse, photographed the bottle; worked with distorting the structure in Photoshop. The object itself ended up as a decorative accent on the nightstand next to my husbands side of the bed.
One night in the dead of darkness, my husband rolled over and his pillow went flying onto the nightstand. We were both startled awake by the sudden crash of breaking glass. When we turned on the lights, we found the bottle laying in a multitude of pieces scattered all over the floor. There had always been something mystifying about this bottle and even in shambles I simply could not part with it.
Instead of tossing it in the garbage and moving on, I asked my husband to place every precious shard inside of a box for later consideration.
I went about my routine as this box stood on my desk gathering dust. I wasnt sure if I was ready to face the reality of what to do with the box; so I worked around it, ignoring the broken contents.
Many weeks later, I opened the box. At first I toyed with the idea of making an abstract sculpture with an exploded bottle motif. (Sort of accepting that it would never in any form resemble what once was.)
Waiting for a surge of creativity, I pulled out my craft glue and gazed at the shattered pieces. It was then it struck me that not only did I understand the feeling of being shattered...the bottle in the manner for which it was devastated was symbolic of the state of the relationship between husband and myself.
With sheer determination, I began with the foundation piece at the base. It took precise consideration as I glued section after section, sliver after sliver. The strange thing was; with every puzzle-piece of glass that became reattached, I felt a lifting within my heart. It was as if the broken part of me was being mended right along with that bottle.
In the end, there were a few pebbles of glass that would forever remain imperfect, but it didnt bother me. Maybe that bottle will never exactly be the same, but then again; after such a breaking experience, none of us ever truly are. The best we can do is to work on reconstructing ourselves then move on.
I now gaze at the bottle with all of its flaws and you know what? The jagged cracks and missing gaps add to the character and make the glass all the more interesting. ..Its sort of like all of us who have faced a true crisis in our life and are in the process of mending.
Im keeping that old bottle on the shelf above my desk. It will always be a badge of inspiration for the struggles we face and the determination to overcome the toughest breaks in lifeand as Ive learned from that bottle and from my life with husband, it can be done.
