Still Life as a Movie Theatre Chair

I was installed sometime in late '92, though I don't know exactly which month, precisely. I only know that on my way from the flatbed to the theatre, it got awfully nippy for a minute there.

I came from a factory in the Northwest, somehwere way out in the middle of Nowhere, Washington, the kind of place where the cows outnumber the people and a breeze is exciting. Humble beginnings breed humble theatre seats, that one thing is for sure. And so it was and I am.

I was crafted, undelicately, by a cold machine that had no mind for individuality and molded all of us into little cookie-cutter chairs. From the minute I left the warehouse, I was jealous of all the antiques out there that were lovingly trimmed by hand, had laquer applied with gentle brushstroks, and were sanded with a deft touch.

This was never to be my fate, however, as I was destined to forever be just another face in the crowd.

After being disingenuously assembled by some guy with a "Chuck" nametag and who touched me in ways I still have not forgotten, my sexy, new red felt cover was stapled over my bare frame with no concern for how well it displayed my curves. I was bolted into a steel girder of sorts, alongisde three other chairs, wrapped unaffectionately in plastic bubble wrap, and tossed carelessly into the back of a flatbed truck for the long journey to my first and final resting place.

The place ended up being a well-traveled AMC Theatre on Van Ness Avenue in the heart of San Francisco, California. My three companions and I replaced a row of golden oldies, whose velvety sheen had long lost its luster and whose joints now creaked and wobbled crassly, in a most undignified fashion.