The Wonderful Fragmented World

When I first moved to New York as a young actor, I took a room in an apartment owned by an elderly woman who by that time had collected a lifetime of keepsakes--some with missing parts, some with broken parts, some with only the parts. It was one of those magnificent upper west side pre -war apartments--part natural history museum, part music theatre, and the rest a stockpile of odds and ends that didn't really go anywhere or with anything. A Wall to wall, floor to ceiling landscape of clutter.

There was a lot of potential for the clutter to have been rearranged and repositioned, even reconfigured in ways that would have made the rooms not only less claustrophobic and navigable, but more aesthetically welcoming for my landlady's many artistic and creative visitors. If only one of those visitors had had the talent and vision to put all the stray pieces together, those keepsakes could have found a new and vibrant life on all the shelves and cabinet drawers and cubbyholes covering those walls.

Putting the pieces together is a creative problem solving venture that is quite familiar to artist Mimi Harris. From her studio workshop on Main Street, she has what might be one of the finest collection of "fragments" ever assembled under one roof. Referring modestly to herself as a "maker," Harris is a trained metalsmith, who also knows how to make handmade books, dioramas and other assemblages by turning into art what others might see merely as odds and ends with no prospects for a meaningful future together.

Well, to be fair, the handmade books are not all just odds and ends. A current project involves putting together lovely old photos to tell the family history to her grandchildren. She has also offered workshops on how to make handmade books. And the pages of her own creations rival some of the treasures I've seen in major museums.

Once inside the studio, my initial impression was that the collection was unsettling--edgy and whimsical, but not threatening in any way. After all, I couldn't help but notice a somewhat writhing hand in a birdcage as well as several disembodied eyeballs on book covers and other surfaces, tracking my every move. After a while though, the experience became more comfortable, even comforting and peaceful.

Mimi confesses to being a great fan of cubbyholes. You can certainly see that in her studio, which, like my former landlady's apartment, is wall to wall, floor to ceiling (almost) cubbyholes, nooks, crannies, cabinet drawers and other small spaces of infinite potential. But that's where the similarity ends. Because, unlike the cubbyholes of my former New York Museum apartment, the pieces that live in the cubbies of "Fragmented" (that's the name of the studio) could never be identified as clutter.

Harris has transformed every inch of her space into a masterpiece of creative engineering. There is no "empty" space. And unlike rooms that smother you with the sheer volume of their contents, Fragmented gives you space to breathe. It gives you a path to wander (and wonder) seamlessly throughout, unhindered by pieces, whether they have been put together or are still waiting to connect in a diorama or other assemblage.

Surrounded by it all, I felt as if the whole room was greater than the sum of its parts, but the parts individually were equally as great--each of them reimagining the space they were in; each of them ready to connect with our eyes and souls--and each of them representing the odds and ends of some future new treasure, just waiting for Mimi to put them together into something wonderful.

Note: Fragmented is located at 416 West Main Street in Abingdon, Va. The studio can receive visitors most afternoons, except Tuesdays and Sundays. If you see the "Leg Up" sign, the studio is open.