Photo by Matthew Michael
I work at a paper store, well that is sort of like saying you sell rocks, when you work at Tiffany's. The store I work for, which I guess eventually when I get to my evil marketing side I'll mention it- when there are people visiting this blog who don't know me well enough to call me on lying about my age on my profile (thanks Syd and Mirm for keeping me honest- just remember I know things about you two as well....) is the first paper store- as in first lady or best in show. It was THE first store like it and though it's a job, with all the inherent ups and downs that come with earning a paycheck working for entrepreneurs- it's their passions that built this very cool place, I have to respect that, a lot. Bless the men I work for, they are not so into the internet so my public expression of affection here will not effect my hard-boiled sarcastic reputation with them. A girl needs to keep up appearances.
There are over 4,000 kinds of paper at any one time in the store. Knowing what I do now about marketing I know that was someone's wild guess- but walking around here on a daily basis I think that number is low and the number doesn't make a dent in what is actually present. Or the wealth of sensuous (yes sensuous!) information embedded in every sheet. Sheets thin as gossamer with tiny flecks of gold leaf or reedy thick papyrus that seems to still hold the scent of river mud in its creases and cracks, papers filled with flowers, or sequins or waxed bits of string. And the store's motto "Come and touch". This invitation brings the creative masses to the wall of paper as if to worship at a holy sanctuary, reveling in its textures, colors, and best of all- its possibilities.
I work in marketing these days- so I don't wait on customers so much any more but I have in the past, and when the moment presents itself, I still do. Because every piece of paper bought is the beginning of a wonderful story- the carpenter who covers his furniture creations with pebbled shagreen (faux sharkskin) papers in wild shades of eggplant or orange. The young student living with many, many roommates in an apartment with glass doors- looking for something to cover the panes for a moment of romantic privacy- with little or no money to spend- the answer, of course, a spider web glassine (a steal at ninety cents a sheet and bonus- it lets the light shine through the way sun cuts through a frosted winter window). The couple looking for invitations for a wedding, for 300, in Africa. It seems the unassuming man was royalty in his village and a student here. He was very aware of his obligations to everyone in his community and at the same time suffering from a rather tight wallet. He and his wide eyed bride-to-be were looking for something that would not break the bank or the bubblejet printer he would be printing the invitations on. The wonderful thing about every person who walks into the store is recognizing the unifying layer- a passion for something special, something more. The need to invoke a sense of occasion and express their need to communicate how unique and wonderful their project or endeavor is- with paper. So when I talk about my love for paper- I also know I am part of a much larger, if somewhat hidden, fraternity. We hold our meetings in 2's and 3's on the sales floor and whisper in a fevered manner trying to find the proper vent for our fevers. The connection is always exciting and owing to the wealth of resources available here, we are always assured a "happy ending". (Note here about happy endings- I have heard rumors that this has connotations having nothing to do with Hans Christian Anderson or The Brothers Grimm- I assure you, this is not my meaning here)
The question that crosses the lips of every visitor as they scan the display is- what do you DO with this paper? Granted, when faced with an elaborately silkscreened piece of hosho from Japan or a filmy lace paper embedded with dried leaves and butterflies (yes, real butterflies, they have a short life but happy life and then are immortalized in pulp- there are worse ways to go) its hard to know what to do with what feels like art- and sometimes costs like art... But laying that thought aside for a moment, think about this-go a day without paper- one day. I have a friend who tells a story of a near "Lord of the Flies" experience on a wilderness trip when one precious roll of toilet paper was accidentally washed downstream. Even tough guys have certain limits when it comes down to eliminating the most basic creature comforts. No printing out ANYTHING. That cup of coffee on the run- and the sleeve that keeps you from burning your hand as you head for work- and the napkin to keep coffee from leaking out the little tiny hole in the plastic top (that system just does not work... I AM gonna figure out the perfect coffee lid, just not tonight.) Runny noses would miss paper- so would tender tearful moments. Oh-and haul out the debit card- the currency in U.S. pockets is 100% cotton paper from Crane's in Massachusetts- which is why your dollars survive all those spins through the washer. There are paper filters for just about everything from Heating and A/C to computers and cars. Its a paper world, and that's just the practical world. I couldn't get out of bed without paper- that's what the face of my alarm clock is made from.
But the paper, for me, is all about the connections it makes to others. The letters, and scrolls people choose to pen poems of admiration and romance on and even when they are frightened off by just how difficult it is to use a quill pen and a jar of ink (Ok everyone who imagines trying this should rent "Shakespeare in Love"- Joseph Fiennes makes it look hard- because after the ballpoint- it IS hard). ultimately the most determined ones manage to send the scroll through the inkjet- all in pursuit of love-and the paper makes the connection. My favorite scroll inscription was from a little boy to his mom- he said her face was as pretty as a horse's. I have to believe he meant that in the best possible sense. I like to believe she took it that way, eventually.
Gift wrapping- it's an art form where I work, but every gift given to you wrapped clumsily in awful paper- in this moment it is the thought that counts, made visible. I appreciate the earnest lumpy package even more than the elegant finished wrap because I can see the rookie wrapper sweating and struggling way beyond their skill level or comfort to give just a little bit more of themselves. And succeeding. Again- the paper communicates love.
I met my new friend Jillian Burt in Australia on her blog about paper: The Paper Forager www.paperforager.wordpress.com (and all the wonderful associated blogs she seems to cram into what must be a 40 hour day) She had referenced something that had been quoted from me in the NY Times about paper Valentines vs. e-cards- I said they were "the death of romance" and anyone who knows me knows I MEANT it. Like with paper, I can get a little crazy about Valentine's day, this was just the 1st time I went quite so public on that particular issue. We got to talking about the idea that e-cards might someday supplant paper cards. The short answer was "No Way". It's not the same- not even close. I will never open a shoebox in my closet and find a sweet musty e-mail still in its original envelope, its creases worn from repeated opening and closing. That is reserved for those beautiful handmade cards my ex-husband made when we were very young and so much in love, or the letters from my mom, who hasn't been around for a long time, or letters I was sent at camp (I was 22 but adults get homesick too!). Any time I think I have forgotten how any of that felt- or how wonderful those people and times were, all I have to do is try and clean out my closet, and the memories rain down on my head. I do not believe that cards will be replaced. And as for paper- the statistics already prove what my heart knows- the world uses more paper every day. In NYC a woman dreams of beautiful papers helping her express thoughts when the words are insufficient; in Australia woman imagines building the book bindery of her dreams in Calcutta (go, Jillian!). Paper is the medium- and love-or something nearly like it, seems to be the message. At least for me.
:) X
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