The Tales of Two Tires
Once upon a time there was a generation of youth that deemed it necessary to etch their mark onto whatever was around. No longer just the act of young love whittled into a tree. This generation got creative with words like 'drugs' and of coarse, classic profanities. Initials, first and last names, from males and females alike. When a new canvas was initiated it was required by youth law of the day that all others must join in. This type of vandalism seems so quaint nowadays. Inspired by boredom and a desperate need for stimulation that we now carry in excess.
Many years ago these old tractor tires were placed at the intersection of Spath and Carlsborg roads. Presumably by the county to hold the stop sign there. They haven’t held that purpose for a long time. Just remnant flowers and succulents remained, until recently. I now revisit the original story of these tires because there was charm that lied beneath the layers of grit.
Four years ago these pictures were taken. Motivated by nostalgia and an inquiry received from the partner of an interested party. Their sibling was responsible for one of the names carved in the monument. Their desire to preserve far outweighed my need for possession. These are rewarding moments. Connecting people with the pieces that tell their story and bring them joy. When the transformation of something ordinary turns extraordinary and creates magic.
Unfortunately, just a few days later, an anonymous ‘good samaritan’ voluntarily took the liberty to ‘restore’ the tires to their original condition. Unknowingly painting them black. I can only presume this was with the best intentions. To the vast majority they certainly would have appeared as an eyesore.
Restoration usually means to return something to its original condition but imperfections tell a story and often removing them can sterilize. Most of the time it’s about preserving the memories. In our brave new world of deep fakes and reproductions, defects are what make authenticity. Knowing when to honor this is where the art lies.
During the recent storm water management / drainage collaboration with Clallam County the tires were moved to the easement across the street. They did not seem responsive to dealing with them. They now lie in a state of liminal purgatory, awaiting destiny. Probably too often, I ponder what it would take to return them to their ‘original’ condition. This certainly does not seem like the best use of my time. Until then I find myself longing for the next generation of bored vandals eager to leave their mark. The first lock on the bridge, the first piece of gum on the wall. It all starts there. Unintentionally creating magic for our future selves.
