antiques - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
And there they were, the gems of times past, the expressions of the human soul that echo our own. Darcy wondered between them, taking in the curves of each, letting her brain think as perhaps the makers did. To her, each one of them was tiny time machine, or perhaps a window into other eras and they ways they related to God and nature.
Antiques crowded the stuffy little shop, a glorious hotch-potch of cultures and fashions through the ages. There was everything from ancient China to early Islam. There were English tea pots and Russian dolls, all of them covered in a fine layer of dust. At the desk sat an old man, his till also antique, the keys clunky like an aging type writer. As Anya approached he beamed a smile like a long lost relative, one she couldn't help but return.
Though many items have lost their lustre, they stand in their dusty cabinets with all glory and pride intact. Coats of patina embrace stone and copper sculptures like the varnish of age and wisdom. As I slide my hand on the baroque dining table, feeling the ornate carvings radiate the maker's emotions, I take in the mellow aroma of oak that has never evaporated.
Tabitha eyed the new coffee table, it was old fashioned and mahogany, not one of those mass produced items with veneers over compressed fibre boards, but real wood right the way through. She shuddered at the thought of what it cost to make, not in money but in old growth forest, but there was no point in telling Karla off for buying it. It was antique and therefore more environmentally friendly to buy now than anything new. So instead she smiled and threw an arm around her girlfriend, "It's beautiful K, just like you."
Laurel turned the antique vase over and over, her eyes following the engravings, enchanted. Her mind spun back to centuries before, one day someone carved this with such love in their heart, how else could it be so beautiful? Style goes in and out of fashion, perhaps that's how it ended up being cast out with the mass produced junk that surrounded it. But Laurel knew that the vase could never be trash, it was like touching history, like a time machine connecting her to someone who lived and loved so long ago.
Antiques are my drug. How can I resist peeking into the past, holding an object that has travelled through more time than a person can. I love the rough textures of the old clays, the smoothness of the fine woods and the vibrancy of the later glazes. I could admire the craft of the maker all day, try to fathom how long it took them to hone the skills to make such a fine artifact. Each one was made by a master of their craft and stands as my inspiration to master my own.