Handmade

I can’t help. Every time I go shopping at any of the major self -service stores, I can’t resist stickers, on which he writes « handmade ». Be it biscuits or noodles, chocolate or jam, soap or cream, I love that things are made by hand. I buy eggs at Vesna and Frank, because I know their hens, I get olive oil at a dink from a neighborhood, as I walk through her olive tree almost every day. It seems to me that it feels in the oil of the mature olives on the branch as a special aroma that the factory products simply cannot have.

When I buy gifts, my first choice is handmade jewelry. Even when I buy books for my grandchildren, my favorite are those painted by hand. On their pages is a diary of the soul of a man.

I can’t help. I love handmade shoes and sew clothes on my hand. I even bought a glass frame that the Japanese make manually. In the city of Fukui.

I started thinking why it was. Because only in the imperfections of the human hand is the perfection of the beauty of creation. Because there are traces of the moment on the object made by the craftsman, the most beautiful brand of all who exist. Because they are handmade jams, shoes or earrings, experience, time, patience and love of what in the end is created. Because in Fukui glasses, it is a reflection of many years of thinking about the shape, material and every detail of what will then be part of the identity of a particular person.

Therefore, I do not accept the thinking that one is becoming irrelevant in a world that belongs to human descent, and I do not want to believe that we will have screens instead of eyes and instead of heart chips. « Handmade children » may be written on the exclusive generation of our offspring. And certainly on the special editions of rare books written in any of the foreign languages, it will be written: “Translated by man. Hand and personally. ”I know, I won’t be able to help myself. I will also buy books from which the human soul smells.