I made a mistake today.
Flux, the little black stray cat, snuck back into the studio. I got distracted for a second making sure he didn’t step on any hot metal. When I looked back, my iron had slipped. It was resting right on the wooden edge of my table.
The studio filled with the smell of burnt timber and smoke. My favorite desk was scarred.
Initially, I was annoyed. But then I looked closer at the char. The blackened, jagged grain against the raw wood was... incredibly beautiful.
It got me thinking: What if I took a soldering iron to an entire table? A surface covered in permanent marks of fire and heat.
I’d probably need a massive iron to finish it in this lifetime, but it’s a hell of a thought.
No polished lies. No blending in. We don’t need to hide the mistakes and scars.
