Juxtapositions

I spent some time near Point Hannon not too long ago. There was a loft-cabin, a wood stove, no electricity. On the Point there was a driftwood sculpture of a dragon made by the locals. It was the middle of fall and so the trees were still strong in their greens while some paths were covered in yellow leaves, saturated so bright as if they were daring the seasons to continue to change.

One of the pathways that left the cabin immediately turned downward into a slight valley, to which a combination of roots and mud then created a hill upward. At the top of this hill was another, more significant downward slope which continued on to the beach. Perched on this small pathway hilltop was a white, plastic patio chair, which seemed like it had gone all season without being sat in.

(I admit to sitting on it at least once to rest and have a sip of wine.)

Chair

The chair atop the hill

I’d walk by this chair more than a couple times each day, as this hill was a part of our main path to and from the beach. It sat with the presence of a throne. The ferns and firs almost seem to have grown in anticipation of its eventuality. I was instantly drawn to it, and with each walk past grew more curious. Why here?

The view from the chair was mundane compared to how it appeared. It didn’t face any direct sunlight during the day and the vantage was mostly looking down on Joe’s lawn. Sitting in it, one was exposed to the elements and there was no where to build a fire. Yet it is the perfect object for this spot: a completely unnatural, cheap and bland American symbol of relaxation here in the thick of one of the most naturally relaxing places in America I’ve ever been. This grotesque piece of plastic in the middle of some of the most remarkable nature and it still just vibed. The fuck is this chair doing here?

I never asked about it, partially because I just enjoy the mystery. There’s something disarming about finding objects juxtaposed with nature like this; their being out-of-place makes them fit right in. That they all serve some strange purpose, are all perfect in distinct moments. Maybe that’s it—maybe the perfection of the chair isn’t in its view, but of the view of it.

Or it could be that it’s a good place to sit if you’re drunk and tired of hiking up a shit-ton of stairs back from the beach and need a rest before getting back to the fire.

posted at 22:00 on 12 November 2019 to Personal

tagged: , ,