Recently a familiar itch resurfaced in me.
No, not the kind that requires an ointment or shots.
It comes from deep within, makes your hands fidget, and can only be “cured” by letting it run wild.
Of course I’m taking about creative expression.
Once upon a long time ago I built sculptures from electronic components like capacitors, resistors, bare wire and lots of solder. What I enjoyed making the most were simulated Bonsai trees. I called them “Immortal Bonsai” because unlike their natural kin they couldn’t die from my total lack of horticultural skills.
As this creative energy was returning I thought I’d take a crack at making another bonsai. I checked my supply of components and saw I needed to replenish them. This was not going to be easy as the components I used back in 1990 were antiques now and very difficult to find. Current components are the product of years of micronization and I’d need a microscope to work with them. All that remains of the old style components have been relegated to a few surplus and junk stores that cater to the hobbiest crowd.
I drove to one such store today in the south west end of Toronto. Situated in a small industrial park the shop was comprised of tall shelving units jammed with every imaginable odd and end, doodad, thingamajig, and bit of discarded electronic flotsam the advancement of technology has left behind. I could have spent hours hunting through the narrow aisles, peering into a vast series of bins, looking for components to match the one I had brought along but instead I decided to take the short cut of asking the man behind the counter for help.
“Excuse me, do you have any resistors that match this one?”, I said holding up my small, leaf green sample.
The man took it from me and gave it a critical look. “This isn’t a resistor”, he said, “it’s a coil and you’ll find them at the end of aisle 1.” He handed the “coil” back to me and turned to help another customer.
I squeezed myself down the aisle past hunters intent on finding a power adapter for their Soviet Russia made 8 track player or perhaps the last remaining modules for a nefarious doomsday device and found the area with the “coils”. I looked through the bins and boxes in the section and the closest match I found were a bundle of coils half the size of the ones I use. I couldn’t see any prices so back to the man behind the counter I went.
“How much are these?”, I asked showing him the smaller coil.
Before he answered he tipped his head to the left. I assumed this allows him to access from his prefrontal cortex the enormous price list such a vast inventory would require. Or perhaps he was just preparing to wing it.
“$1″, came the answer with a squint to see if I’d bite.
“Each?”, I gulped, thinking of many densely foliated branches.
“Well, for a quantity purchase of 5 or more I could go to 85 cents. How many do you need?”, he asked.
“Around 2,000.”
“2,000?!?!”, he exclaimed, his eyebrows disappearing up under the brim of his dusty baseball cap.
And here I was again, at the moment when, just to move forward, I must explain WHY I needed so many of one component.
“I build sculptures with them.”, I said.
As I drove away empty handed I wondered if pottery makers or painters dealt with this.
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