Monday, 1.17.05: Japanese postcard
I don't know how this panoramic postcard got into our house or into its particular storage box, but there it was -- an odd look, an odd size among a stack of squarish European views. It's a double postcard, probably a hundred years old. Maybe the idea was to appreciate its wide view, then tear it in half and send out two. Or maybe it's one of those tools of clandestine activity (I'll know it's you if you have the matching half of this postcard.)
It is stamped in gold: "Kamakura Kalhin-in Hotel - The Beauty Spot in Japan" Mount Fuji haunts the distance.
Jim and I studied it for awhile, staring through a magnifying glass, trying to decide if the color was printed or hand-painted. I finally decided to refer to it as "tinted" and offered it up for auction.
Seven days later I was happy to learn that a man in Kamakura was the high bidder. It's always a thrill to sell something and it makes me feel so cosmopolitan to sell internationally. But sending a tired orphan "back home" is a special rush.
I told Fugai about this. Even though I flunked Time Magazine's spirituality test, I agree with Fugai that each object has its own spirit. (We all know about the demon in our computer who pouts and rages and purrs.) I like how she put it:
I heard from the man who purchased it:
I love turning merchandise into moments.