In celebration of our Twitter campaign and my writing of my first Quinstance blog post, I decided to share my own definition of our namesake. Although given the length, definition might be a bit generous. Maybe it’s more of a philosophical exploration? I don’t know, you can decide:
What does it take for an object to be enchanted?
It’s a complicated question even when we aren’t talking about the kind of enchantments that summon storms or turn chickens into slightly larger chickens. In an age created and defined by the assembly line and innovations in automation, there isn’t much room for wonder or inspiration or restoration in our objects. So objects remain just that—objects. They’re props designed to look good but hollow on the inside.
Looking through the products that we will, in less than a month, gleefully start selling I didn’t see props. I saw phenomena — sources of energy or joy or beauty (or all of the above in many cases) — all of which were surrounded by that romantic aura missing from the majority of products.
But why these objects? What made these objects so special that I instantly recognized the presence of that which is lacking in so many?
In part, it’s because each piece by each artist is made for a person, by a person. These items aren’t made to satisfy some marketing demographic or an abstracted audience absent of personality. They were made for a person: someone the maker hasn’t met yet, and perhaps never will, but made for them to add some lasting happiness in their lives, even in brief moments. The craftspeople know that someone will love this object so much that they’ll fill it with their own meaning. They made these items tailor-made (sometimes literally) to fit into someone’s life.
Further, it’s because the artist wanted each item to exist. These artists don’t make their wares just for profit. The act of creation, whether it’s for a vase or a scarf or a headband, matters to them; it connects them to something larger than themselves or perhaps something more personal. Each piece is made with literal love — for the piece, for the craft, for the vision. You can see it in every groove or stitch. You can feel it when you listen to their stories and their philosophies. You can hold it in your hands.
And by the combination of these two personalities — maker and finder — an object becomes enchanted. At this meeting of these meanings, an object becomes something that can make someone happy every time they look at it, or put it on, or use it.
Huh. I wonder if there’s a word for that.