The Red Chair

Mike says I am no longer allowed to bring home chairs unless I do something more than pile them up in the garage. So, I have until May 31st to transform this chair into something that will justify (in Mike's mind) any future chair-dragging. As is often the case however, the process has distracted me--specifically, the raw pattern and volume of the debris--so that now I envision taking the chair to the shop, chopping its legs off, and exhibiting the disemboweled chair like a canvas on the wall. I'm not sure how Mike would feel about this.

I love how the chair has become a home, a little nest and repository for whatever the wind or wild animals bring to its body. I like the chair's beads and tucks; the way it appears human, despite it's obvious handicap of general nastiness. On the other hand, I could continue with the original plan: strip the chair, rebuild the seat, and somehow tranform the life of this thing whose public identity is now rather bland and colonial. What to do?