What is Futile Matter?

I think there are some things I am afraid of. 

Namely, indulging in art and design, and making that publicly known. How dare I take the time to write about the stripes I saw over the course of the day? Fashion is frivolous, some would argue. Perhaps I am afraid of being seen concerned with matters deemed frivolous. 

But I suppose that would prevent me from doing most things I love – relishing the shape, weight, and texture of a mug as I drink coffee, or pausing to trace my eyes along a raw hem of a jean or neckline, or appreciating the contrast between a thick gemstone and sporty chord it hangs off of. 

Trinkets, clothes, shoes, jewelry, vases, ceramics, picture frames, furniture finishes, stainless steel kitchenware, durable surfaces… I like things, in the very material sense of the word. 

I need not own it all. Observation alone suffices in most cases. 

It’s intoxicating to notice what feels resonant. Why? I wonder. Why that thing and not the other? Why this shape and not a different one? Why am I so blown away, in awe, in adoration of this stitching? 

Yes, the feelings are that potent. Some might call it love.

That - love - is really what Futile Matter is about. 

I feel so much of it, toward so many things, toward life itself, that I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s humorous, really, how positively overwhelmed and sheepish I feel when I am confronted with living another day… seeing, talking, breathing, moving, learning, trying anew… 

Believe me, I’ve tried to dull this enthusiasm about being alive. You would think, that in a world fraught with atrocities and uncertainty, I could non-chalantly pack a cigarette between my lips and let the fumes sully any hope for the future or appreciation for beauty.

Yet here I am, undeniably chalant and curious about the history of f*cking stripes. 

Really, I am undeniably chalant and curious about why I am undeniably chalant and curious about anything in the first place, and why, so quickly, a judgment is made about the degree of depth, relevance, and significance of said thing. 

Who decides what’s important, worthy of exploration and discussion? 

At Futile Matter, it’s me. It’s you. It’s the people I interview. 

My hope is that little things - futile things - find a sense of belonging here. 

Expect monthly pieces about matters deemed small by most, guaranteed to stir something in that heart of yours, by yours truly (and friends).