[writing] Found art

I am a fan of the idea of found art, which is, deciding that random objects found on the street or elsewhere, the detritus of our civilization, can be considered art. Honestly, I don't believe that this stuff IS art - to me, art implies the purposeful application of craft - but abandoned paint cans and lost lists can be a wonderfully detailed and complex look at a society's joins.

Most especially letters gone astray.

Shawn found a note blown into our driveway the other day, dated April 3, 1995. It doesn't look as though it's been outside all that time - it's still crisp and white, although much folded. In it, Praneeta Rasad playfully berates Greg for not having phoned her What is it with all you grade eights R U guys too cool to call me or what?, tells him her personality flaws I know I can be a harsh bitch sometimes, but you love anyways right? and refers to some mysterious trip that they are taking together I bet when we go me and Chris R gonna get stuck with a bunch of Hongero. That's gonna be just peachy.

I know I was that young once (my diaries from that period of my life won't let me deny it) and it just fills me with a kind of amused sympathy to read about Praneeta's drama-rama life. She's older now, of course. I wonder if she'd like her note back.

Praneeta, if you are reading this, just drop a comment and I'll mail it back to you. Until then, though, it's going on my wall.