Artist workshop

In Aaron Kramer's workshop, there are two birdcages, holding a total of four songbirds. One of the cages was purchased, one he made. There is a central worktable, on wheels, with a few leftover tin can hand cranked sculptures, a hummingbird, a pair of flowers, and a wooden bowl full of small boats cut out of mid-century wooden bowls. Next to the door is a thick bundle of steel wire of various thicknesses leaning against a band saw next to a work table with various shapes of metal in the process of being formed. There are, in different parts of the workshop, two rows of clamps, neatly attached to the edge of a shelf or table. Everything is clean of dust, rust, and grime. A MIG welding machine dominates the right half of the metalworking bench, red and black with a coil of shining wire visible inside. From the ceiling hangs huge wooden strips, in curves and circles, each piece a few sheets of veneer laminated and strengthened, waiting to be shipped, assembled, and installed as a vast mobile in a hotel lobby half a continent away. On a shelf there is a collection of old tin tops next to a drill press. Every edge of the room, a converted garage with soaring ceiling, is covered in shelves, or tables, or bird cages, but there is enough room to bring in a crowd of retirees on a tour, if not to have them sit down anywhere. A few sculptures, balls of woven steel strung with beads, hang from a rafter, like the birdcages but stronger looking.

Yesterday's menu:
breakfast: eggs and toast
lunch: beans and rice
dinner: lentil soup