Bottles

I am an artist. And sometimes I think, when I look around at all the millions of different ways of making art, that the only thing that sets artists apart from the rest of the populace is that they’re fascinated by just about everything. Do you find everything fascinating? Then you, my friend, are an artist, too.

Not only am I a producer of art, I’m also an avid collector. I’m not speaking of prints or paintings (not right now, at least), but of the simple masterpieces I see all around me. I have collections of feathers, shells, nests, even bones. The fact that man had no hand in creating something means nothing to me in terms of art collecting. Art is where we find it. And speaking of found art, I can never pass by an excavation site without hopping in and rummaging for “found art.” I’ve been at it long enough to know in which areas to find the good stuff. Broken ceramics that were thrown in middens (an archaeological term that has far more poetry in it that ‘trach heap’) before the time of roadside trash collection. Objects created by man, destroyed by man, and then perfected by nature. And then, of course, there’s the bottles.

When riffling through the detritus of ages, there’s always a small thrill at finding something whole, intact. Given their sturdy structure and disposability of purpose, bottles stand up to the tests of time better than most objects. Besides, nobody would ever throw away an intact tea set, but a used bottle of Bromo-Seltzer?

Sure, I’ve been kicked off of construction sites, and of course, I’ve picked up things I’ve immediately regretted for various, often bloody reasons, but the payoff is worth it. There are apparently whole societies dedicated to the pursuit of bottles. I’m in it for the art. I’m in it for the history that you can feel in your hands when you wipe the dirt away and see a stopper still inside.

Each find has a story, I’m sure of it. I don’t need to know the details, the fact that a story is there is enough for me. I’ve got Prohibition-era whiskey bottles and milk glass Pond’s tubs with cold cream residue still inside.

Inkwells are my personal grails (some collect Coca-Cola-bottles, some collect bitters). The crown jewel of my collection is a Civil War-era, hand-blown inkwell. It’s opalescent, with a tarnish that’s referred to as a “sickness” by collectors of bottles. Which is fine by me, after all, I don’t collect bottles- I collect art.