Detritus, Dirt and Witches
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I have often been in a position to decide if it’s worth to get a broom, or even a vacuum cleaner to pick up detritus from the floor, detritus being defined, in Wiki, as particulate matter of either organic or inorganic origin. In its appearance among others accumulated on the floor, each particle has lost its history, which might go back to a sandwich I ate three days before, or a speck of the wall paint chipped off when the wall was struck by a pot being placed in the cabinet, or to a large but innumerable set of other plausible accidents that all have in common that they produce a particle of a size well below the size of a pea — yet a particle, nevertheless, that is visible to the naked eye and even has recognizable attributes such as shape and color. Its constituents being without discernable or traceable provenance, detritus is denigrated in the minds of many to the lowest, most despicable substance, to dirt.
Once the label “dirt” is attached to particulate matter, disgust ensues in the minds of many people, a sensation that will not rest until the offending matter is removed. The disgust stems from the total absence of information about the matter’s provenance, and hence the existence of the possibility that any of the particles might contain infectious agents, decomposing organic matter, or even parts of taboo substances such as feces carried into the home at the bottom of your shoes. There is no reassuring authentication “Dust particle from the 17th-Century Swedish Court, Stockholm; never been in contact with organic matter.”
Provenance is known as a crucial attribute in the art world. But here lays the difference: a piece of art without provenance is easily ignored. It will not bother anyone. With dirt it is an entirely different matter since a decision has to be reached about its immediate disposal.
The decision whether to collect particles one by one, or to get a broom or even its powerful sister, the vacuum cleaner, should be made on the basis of the number of individual particles in the swatch of detritus that one must deal with. For instance, it is easy to pick up ten particles just by consecutively wetting ten fingers by tongue without having to lick any one a second time. But even when the number exceeds ten, it is possible to herd the particles into a dense cluster, and pick them up en mass with one single finger.
I like the idea of cleaning without electric tools – admittedly it is a step back, yet at the same time it is a step forward, toward a more wholesome, organic life. Moreover, without brooms, there won’t be any witches, or at least they will think twice before settling down at a place without the means for basic transportation.
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