A few years ago, I spent too much money on plates and bowls crafted by a local Melbourne potter. A potter I’d seen at markets for years, her work getting better and better with every throw.
Plates and bowls. Such ordinary objects. Objects that are so easy to acquire for any price, at any time, in our ever-connected world of mass-produced goods. I had a perfectly good set of them before these new ones. They did exactly what plates and bowls should do – hold food.
But something happened when I brought these new ones home and retired our old, white porcelain ones we bought from Big W. I realised that I had to use these items. I suddenly became hyper-conscious that every meal was an opportunity to interact with these objects crafted by someone who I admired. This person became part of every. Single. Meal. Because of this, meals became more special, more intentional, slower. I cooked different food, better food, more regularly. It was like having a guest over but without the pressure of having to make conversation or entertain.
Everyday objects tend to go unnoticed, precisely because we use them so often. They become, literally, a part of the furniture. Our attention is better fixed on what’s changing, what’s new, on how we could optimise and improve all the things that we’re told we should improve upon. No one ever mentions the plates and bowls. Cutlery. A tea kettle.
A little while ago, I wrote about what you’re buying when you’re buying art. And yes, at first, I did spend too much money on those plates and bowls. But what I didn’t realise until afterwards is that I wasn’t just buying plates and bowls. I was buying a habit change, a different way to look at the world, a different perspective on everyday objects. And when I think about what I paid for that, I got the deal of a lifetime.