Toast in a box

Bad moods happen when you expect them the least, and everyone around you who is in a good mood annoys you. Today I built a mailbox so that the mailman won't have to ring the doorbell for packages that don't fit in the mail slot. I sawed the wood with a handsaw, and I screwed all the pieces together. There is nothing quite as satisfying as making manufactured objects by yourself. Price has no value here -I could have bought a mailbox. But I would have had to go out to hell's creation to get it. There is something that fascinates me about boxes, the enclosed space, what it hides - emptiness, jewelry, treasures, letters? The most surprising box I ever saw was at the MAC in Montreal, in a sculptural installation by Quebec artist Michel Goulet: hundreds of odd objects were perched up on metal sticks and place in a large circle around a room. one of these objects was a little black wooden box with a crooked hook. I wondered: can I have a look inside? is the contents sacred? Does it belong to the artist only? My curiosity overcame my hesitations and I opened the box. Inside, I found a burnt toast.