Regarding Uncle Geech

At one time, Uncle Geech did not exist. While such a state is quite peaceful for most of us —occurring before or after we've had our little run on Earth — it troubled Geech to no end. It was as if something was missing. He lacked the quality of being. Yet he was not wanting for resourcefulness. So he cobbled together a perceptible self by trial and error, using whatever bits and pieces were at hand. He wedged together clumps of dishrags, chair legs, pungent ooze from discarded detergent bottles, a few epigrams he had always admired, a shot of whiskey, and an illegible ID card. Somehow it worked,

"It looks just like me, doesn't it?" he would say.

Some might hesitate, noting that even his shadow appeared to be cut out of gray construction paper and laid on an old skateboard which he tugged around with a string. But in the end, it was impossible to deny that he had gone from being nowhere to being everywhere.

In a world where entropy and neglect wreak havoc on objects big and small, Uncle Geech passed through, repairing them. He repaired them with gaffer's tape, with newspaper, with the spokes of umbrellas, with metal washers dangling from string. He seemed able to dispense cement, foam rubber, or glue at will.

If he saw an air conditioner dangling precipitously out of a window, he might secure it with a child's pillow and gaffer's tape. A rain gutter spilling water into a basement window? He could work magic with segments of old bicycle tires, a bathmat, and shirt cardboard. He could fix anything. When? Who knows. He proceeded like a tinkering angel, unseen, beneficent, trying to repair the world almost as fast as it unraveled.

— Kurt Hoffman, June 2025

for Michael Ballou

Michael Ballou. Furniture as Art. Blo Back Gallery. September 2025