Well… doesn’t it become mine, too, when I see it on the street? It’s part of my experience, my neighborhood, my environment, my life. It’s a piece of someone else’s puzzle that I find but can’t necessarily fit anywhere.

There’s a story behind every bit of MOOP (Matter-Out-Of-Place) we come across. Maybe not a good story, but that could just be a matter of perspective.

So I pick it up sometimes. I try to limit myself to one piece at a time, otherwise I would drown in it.

Here’s one that came pre-torn. It feels charged with emotion: hope? disappointment? fear? resignation?

Someone spent cash that they probably needed for a gamble that didn’t pan out. In my own experience I remember scratch-off cards as a fun activity at the convenience store. A toy. A treat. Loaded with the promise of money. But if I didn’t win the loss was minimal. It wasn’t my dollar, after all. But those few times I did win… what a joy:)

Now that I think about it, for my mum it wasn’t a risk. It was a distraction. Something to keep me occupied and mystified while we were out doing errands. And from what I know of childcare, that’s worth more than a couple bucks.

I have been developing a more intimate relationship with my garbage, recently. This came about while developing a strategy to frame some small square paintings of mine. I couldhave gone the easy route, and buy cheap ready-made frames that come from China. I took the other road….