If I had a minute more

I would tell you about how interested I've been lately in long exposure photographs.
I would tell you about the man that I was on the subway with who, with an air sealed pillow of his personal belongings, had angry imaginary chats on his cell phone about how he just got out of jail.


I would kvetch about laundromat etiquette, and rave about Stanley Kubrick's version of Lolita.
But since I only have a minute, I'd like to discuss the tension between creativity and responsibility. Long ago, I crafted without much thought about materials. I scavenged what I could from the ground, the garbage, or my father's basement and tried to make things.
As I got older, I started to think more about all of the garbage that we produce, and all of the essentially useless things we purchase and collect for pleasure, and what I produced started to get smaller and smaller. My last spurt of pure, functionless creativity was taking apart watches and making diorama inside with the pieces.
While these were beautiful and reused broken goods, they still bothered me because they were not useful. I know, I sound like an art-commie. Living in Japan, being surrounded by ads and consumer goods while living in a tiny, empty apartment made me more conscious of what I bought and picked up and made, because of the lack of space and abundance of waste.
All of these things mean that when I want to give a gift or have an idea for a craft I feel now that it comes with more responsibility.
Is it useful? Is it wasteful? What is the pleasure behind making/giving/receiving the thing, and where will it end up? As I accumulate more buttons and string, more velcro and scraps of old clothes, more paper and packaging, I imagine new ways to be a maker.