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October 25th 2010    Tim Candler

    For several years now the Artist has been sitting upon the machine that washes clothes to prevent it from shaking the house.  Which it is inclined to do during one of the many intimate moments it has with wet and soapy clothes.

    While I was away it was pointed out to the Artist that machines that wash clothes are inclined to behave poorly if they are not sitting level.  I dismissed it of course as a creative musing, because to my eye the level on top of the washing machine appeared as close to harmony as ever it is possible this side of death.

     But I obliged by spending an hour or two hunting down tools, issuing vague and less than comprehensible instructions while muttering "righty-tighty, lefty-losey" in a manner that suggested I knew exactly what I was doing.    And I was fairly convinced that if touched in the wrong place elderly machines that wash clothes become extremely spiteful.

    True I too have occasionally taken my turn at sitting through the spin cycles.  A far from inspiring experience, but nonetheless one that can persuade a person that he is participating in a sometimes necessary chore and one which otherwise would have to be done by hand.   An "Artisan Wash" I might have been able to call it until levelness was achieved.

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