The first rite of passage upon learning how to write one’s name
was to inscribe it on a library check-out card promising the
book’s safe journey and return. I remember reading the list of
names that had come before me and feeling that I was a part of
this book’s history and it’s shared, communal experience
exposed by curly-Q handwritten names revealing repeat
customers devouring the book beyond it’s deadline. An act of
declaration that’s dissolving faster than we can see as cards are
removed permanently and bar codes take their place.
The Japanese term “wabi-sabi” is described as the art of finding
beauty in imperfection and of accepting the natural cycle of
growth, decay and death. Unlike the American culture focused
on spectacle, wabi-sabi is underplayed and modest, the kind of
undeclared beauty waiting patiently to be discovered. It’s found
in time-worn faces of expired library books that have traveled
through many hands