In this ruthless/rootless postmodern era of total deritualization, where traditions die out and where secular values perish, where dust in bags is called tea and where salads come washed, cut to pieces and cellophane-wrapped, where coffee and wine are consumed in plastic cups, I want to fill and light up a hand made pipe, slowly and meticulously. As a statement.
In this society where time is money, where efficiency, performance and just in time are the keywords, where Speedy Gonzales is king and where superficial one liners reign, I want to take the time to enjoy objects from an other age, calmly, peacefully. As a statement.
In this age where furniture comes in kits, where cars are assembled by robots, where cheeses and wines are no longer the result of the passion, the intuition and the craftmanship of artisans, I want to smoke a pipe that contains the soul of a fellow man. As a statement.
In these times of screaming colours, of neon signs and muzak, of flashy hypes and worthless gadgets, I want to caress the timeless lines of a perfect bulldog. As a statement.
I want to walk through town carrying a cane with a silver knob. I want to wear a Borsalino hat. I want to smoke a high grade pipe. As a statement.