adam j. sontag

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We are going to make dioramas

Today I will go to Mysteries of Science again we are going to make dioramas.

Today I will go to Mysteries of Science again we are going to make dioramas.

One thing about looking forward to things is that you actually have to have things to look forward to. That’s not a fatalistic statement about having a crappy life and loathing every next sunrise, for instance, (though it applies!), but rather a comment on naïveté. By the time you grow up, it’s easy to forget the experience of genuinely experiencing everyday things for the very first time. O, the tangible newness!

Remember when you couldn’t get the cereal, candy or whatever your parents put up in the cabinets, because you simply couldn’t reach them (without a death- defying climb)? Then you turned, I don’t know, 12? 16? 8? You could get whatever you wanted, cause you were a grown up! It felt really awesome for awhile, but you had homework to do, girls to fawn over, and video games to play. Somewhere along the line, getting a glass off a shelf and filling it with juice from the fridge - ALL BY YOURSELF - lost its magic.

And such is the case with dioramas. Though I was but six years and 239 days old, I had evidently experienced the joy of taking a shoebox, putting a bunch of cut-up paper, plastic toys, cellophane, and clay inside of it, and pretending I had my very own Museum of Natural History. The allure of making a diorama was just that: still alluring, yet to become the tedious, prototypical example of a “school project.”

Keeping the wonder level at the WOW threshold over the years is difficult, if not impossible. That’s why even though I really like scale models, I don’t make them for a living.