The Parable of Memory

There was a man in the town who knew every engine and small machine by heart. His shop still smells of oil and metal, and the walls are lined with shelves of parts, some so old their purpose is lost to time. He worked quietly, methodically, never asking for payment. People brought their machines and left them in his capable hands, knowing that when he was done, they would work again.

I am fascinated by the noise of the hundred year old fridge in the back humming away. The delightful grime of the space, the smells, and dim lighting will last all my days.  The way his hands moved hypnotized me.  He analyzed the rumble of a motor and understood it as if he had made it. Neighbors said that he fixed more than machines. He fixed days, moods, even the small frustrations of life, leaving each person a little lighter when they leave.

Now he is gone, and the town feels his absence. Craftsmen of the town, many of which studied at his side, came to the shop and took his tools. They use them now in his honor. An artisan created a small memorial using a discarded machine found in the shop. 

He placed a small glass dome on the unknown machine and inside a hologram of a spinning lawnmower rotates endlessly, and the sounds of the shop, clinks of metal, the roar of a small engine fill the room. Visitors stop and remember, hearing the rhythm of his hands at work, imagining the care with which he handled each task.

It reminds the town that generosity is not measured in coin, that skill can be a gift, and that ordinary labor, performed with love, leaves a mark that lasts far beyond a lifetime. The man is gone, but in the glow of that spinning mower and the hum and grinding of the shop, he is remembered, quietly, endlessly, in every turn and every whir of the machines he loved.

Mr Hockett’s Lawnmower Shop

Surplus tire balancing machine, Glass dome, Digital projector, Media player, Audio player, Acrylic sheet, wood, Digital print
2024