When I visit museums, it gives me great joy to see what we expect to see. At the National Wool Museum of Wales, we would expect to see a plethora of fabulous blankets and off course a water wheel.
But what really makes my heart sing in a museum, is a glimpse of how life was; the simple beauty in the seemingly ordinary. The nooks and crannies that have stayed untouched.
There is a romance in the way that the sun dances with yarn on the fading window sills ...
A humanness about the wooden joints so carefully crafted into benches ...
A joy in rows of spun wool ...
A thrill in the knots of old wood ...
against woollen remnants ...
a magic that today's perfection driven culture tidies up or clears away. A reminder, a truth, an authenticity that touches me.
Because it evokes the past ...
inviting me tell part of the story for myself.
