Paper towels, candy wrappers, and aluminum foil joined my vibrant menagerie of carefully folded paper. Anything square and foldable became my medium. Soon I could finish a crane in fifty seconds or with my eyes closed. ![]() I could make a crane smaller than almost any arbitrary form of measurement. How small was it possible for a crane to be? Smaller than a golf ball? Smaller than a dime? Small enough to sit on the end of a pencil? Any size was attainable. Before the task could become monotonous, I started experimenting. Slowly, my collection grew: first ten, then fifty, then one hundred. My fingers were permanently sticky from the glue I scraped off every square. I folded cranes at home, between classes, and in the car. Armed with a pack of highlighters, I decorated each piece of paper individually. The first two hundred cranes were all crafted from Post-it notes. Holding that delicate bird, I was flooded with triumph and elation. By the third attempt, I ended up with a sticky pink paper crane. Too embarrassed to ask for another, I turned to my stack of Post-it notes. The first crane was a disastrous failure of wrinkly lines and torn paper. Like an early prototype of the airplane, I ascended towards my dreams for a glorious moment before nose-diving into the ground. My art teacher loaned me a piece of origami paper and, armed with an online tutorial, my quest began. ![]() My previous forays into origami had ended poorly, but I was so excited to begin my quest that this detail seemed inconsequential. If you fold one thousand paper cranes, the gods will grant you one wish. ![]() Having explored the myths from ancient Greece, Rome, and Egypt, my curiosity was piqued in eighth grade by a simple legend from Japanese lore.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |