Fulcrum Chair, low

Fulcrum Chair, Fall 2018, The Hambidge Center

Fulcrum Chair holds symbolism that relates to the cycle of life, and a coming and going—a revolution of sorts. It is built around the Spring House, in front of the Hambidge Center’s welcoming Rock House. Water burbles through and down from the Spring House, cleansing, feeding into Betty’s Creek.

The chair is a meditation on stasis. Here, it is a resting stop, not for the observer to literally take a seat, but to consider their pauses—momentary or prolonged—current, past, or future. It is holding place—one that remembers the pressure of form and flesh. The chair can reflect a stillness of soul.

The fulcrum balances us between the present, where our feet are grounded, and either a turning back or some-sort-of momentum forward. Ties tether us to the sky. They can link us in a delectable balance, capturing the air between space and solid. A tight bond may trip us up so that we fall to one side of the fulcrum. This is an area where memory and truth and wishes vie to tell a story, one that is usually tangled with loss and hope. Ropes and strings will bind us into a questioning of whether to breathe and pause, or pull against to act with determination.

Lastly, we have objects to take with us, to carry in our pockets, to provide a sense of calm and stability as we balance ourselves.