still life by wanda.direct in Bucharest

I’m standing here, waiting for the coffee to brew, staring at the counter, and it hits me how weird some of these objects are. Like, this Coca-Cola bottle—why does it feel so permanent? It’s just plastic and liquid, designed to be used and tossed away, but somehow it’s more iconic than half the art I’ve ever seen. It’s everywhere, but it’s not really here, you know? Just sitting there, ordinary but loaded with meaning. And that’s the thing—look at everything around me. These objects, they’re all so normal, but when you really think about them, they’re kind of absurd. Who decided that a disposable thing could become a global symbol? The coffee pot, the cereal box, the plastic container I’ve had for years—all these mundane things that quietly shape my day without me even noticing. It’s like they’re all little still lifes, just waiting to be seen, except they’re not timeless—they’re a snapshot of right now, of modern life. And the weird part is, they’ll probably outlive us. These objects are disposable, but they’ll linger long after I finish this cup of coffee. That’s the paradox, isn’t it? Temporary and permanent, meaningful and meaningless, all at the same time.