E L E G A N C E
is not easy
to stop thinking ill
Usually one must enter into a friendship
with a person
Who has accomplished that great feat himself
might start to rub off on you
"I seek and can't find myself. I belong to chrysanthemum hours, neatly lined up in flowerpots. God made my soul to be a decorative object.
I don't know what overly pompous and selective details define my temperament. If I love the ornamental, it must be because I sense something there that's identical to the substance of my soul."
"To have emotions made of chintz, or of silk, or of brocade! To have emotions that could be described like that! To have describable emotions!"
~ Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
One strives to be elegant, then. To stop thinking ill of others. And to reference yesterday's post, to not be exhausted, but to be elated.
How to find oneself? How to describe one's emotions? Maybe I keep returning to the stacks of teacups in various states of balance and mismatched patterns because they describe my soul.
The ones in the photos above are recent thrift store buys. I bought them strictly to take photos of, telling myself that it wouldn't matter if they spilled over or were chipped or damaged. That it wouldn't matter how off-kilter the stack becomes. But maybe already I become more careful, more protective of them.