|Yellow metal chair|
And then I did not even make it into the door before I turned back and walked around the corner to have another look. After all, what is the harm in looking?
So, laden with my lunch bag and tote- stuffed with my knitting projects, sketch book, Vogue Knitting magazine, empty water bottle and Starbucks cup from my drive - I walked around the block and nabbed it. It would have made a funny picture. Me, having donned my fuchsia leather gloves (because the metal would be cold) and my pile of stuff dangling from one arm, holding the newly acquired old chair, dangling from the other, walking down the dark empty street in the drizzling rain. With my chair.
It is a little beat up and a little rusty- but it is so iconic. This was the chair in other peoples kitchens. The kitchens where peoples mother's cooked. The places of refuge and orderliness that I sought as a kid, whose own mother eschewed the arts of cooking and order for other arts. It seemed a marvel to me. Then as now. So I nabbed it.
It has a perfect place at my studio table.