During The Distance of 2020, I unexpectedly found myself "sheltered" at my mother's home. I built a makeshift office, and then in fact I built the prototype of this website. I asked for a box in which to keep all the electronic accoutrements who sit on my desk (hard drives, flash drives, power bank, headphones, usb video camera... I was given a dark red box that I recognized as one of those objects that had "always" been around. Red is not my favorite color, so I've never been especially fond of this box, but it does feel nice in the hand. The exterior is lacquer. but based on the weight, it feels like the construction is cardboard, or something like it.
The box is a surface, so inevitably objects would end up on top of it, as well as inside of it, and, under such circumstances, when I wanted to access an object from inside, instead of removing the objcts from on top and lifting the entire lid, I would pry the lid up.
The Distance has afforded a new perspective on time, and in this spaciousness I realized the potential cost of my rushing. I had recorded on background observation how well the box was managing my abuse. Then I brought that observation front and and center. I was stressing the corners of a box that had survived gracefully at least for my entire life. It deserves care, indeed it inspires care.
This kind of "care" means being present with objects while using them.