51
B+W›
and what you couldn’t do – like pulling wood
apart, for instance, or breaking metal. The
tools made me aware for the first time of
three-dimensional objects on their own.
On the wall above the workbench were
layers of paint strokes where he tried out
different shades of white and grey so that in
a sense there was literally a painting made
by him, unconsciously, that had very close
values. I always remembered this painting.
I always remembered this wall.W
hen I was older, let’s say 8 to
10 years old, I’d work in my
grandpa’s store on Saturdays.
By work, I mean he let me
sweep the floor, and mainly I just admired
the objects. I admired the beautiful enamel
on the ceramic toilets and sinks. I admired
the way different colours of conduit electric
wire was in rolls next to each other, and
the way it had been braided. In the paint
department, the colour charts looked to me
like perfect, perfect jewel boxes. I always
liked the accumulation of things. He would
have bins full of different kinds of nails,