Seeking the Liminal Edge

I think that part of my downfall is how interesting I find the world. I remember watching a taxi drive slowly down a darkened street in east Santa Cruz and thinking how interesting that seemed. It was like a large yellow shark in the murky light and the next thing I knew, I had been driving a cab for 5 years… In Japan, I learned to carve the traditional stone name seals, a skill that I may never use again, but I will never regret learning. Photography, bamboo, leeches, have all had their place in in my fascinations and they all bundle up in a funny distracted life, that never seems to get old.

Most recently, it has been the edges of knives.It seems so much like a metaphor, this seeking a perfect edge that cannot be seen. The hypnotic process of grinding, shaping, polishing, and then running my thumb along a mirror edge that is invisible to the naked eye, but can just barely be felt almost as if it exists in a different world. Different angles create such different products and different steels sing such completely different songs.

I love the feel of old high carbon kitchen knives found buried up to their hilts in the garden… Pitted, blunt, and black with age, they polish to a mysterious glow, and the edge gleams as if possessed of a vital spark. It all comes down to that final line, that subtle ridge that is clean and clear and almost unknowable. It is dangerous, and useful, and oh so satisfying. And you shave the hair off you arm with it, and you razor off thin strips of paper in long smooth motions, and you slice your bagels and sliver your meat, and all the while you seek that liminal threshold. That thin dangerous moment between then and now, who we were and what we will become.

Before and after at 400 magnification

Feeling my way towards Infinity

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