Objects We Let Age, Faces We Edit
A leather chair improves once somebody has actually sat in it. Brass acquires a softer colour where hands have passed over it for years. The centre of an old stone stair sinks almost imperceptibly beneath generations of feet. We seldom describe these changes as deterioration. More often they are the reason we value the thing at all.
There is, of course, a little hypocrisy involved. The leather has been conditioned. The floor was swept this morning. Someone polished the brass without polishing away everything that made it old. What we admire is not neglect, but age under care. The distinction becomes strangely difficult when the material in question is our own face.
A crease in leather gives it character; beside the mouth it becomes something to correct. A softened edge on a table is evidence of a useful life. A softened jaw is presented rather less generously. Beauty has developed an enormous vocabulary for this anxiety: reverse, erase, restore, rewind. Time, apparently, is welcome everywhere except the mirror.
Perhaps we have confused preservation with pretending that nothing happened.