The magnetism of imperfection

notes from home, and on the season~

I’m writing from a little work bench in a studio, overlooking my parents backyard.

The bench is handmade, like almost everything in this house, right down to the dish scourer my Dad made by tying an old orange net into a ball using an elastic band. As soon as I saw it, my eyes almost rolled out of my head, but my boyfriend hours later, washing the dishe…