"No one but us"
Scott Maitland
Southport High School PTSA
Indianapolis, IN
Read This Artist's Statement
No one but us
It's not much to anyone but us.
No one understands the true beauty of it.
No one could look upon it and just stare, stare for hours on end and not think of the same
memory twice.
No one can look at the old Mack truck and think of as many things as us.
No one can look at the overgrown patch of land outlined with fence posts and remember
hours of long work.
No one but us.
But even as we look at these things we don't think of the hours of work, but the fun and
memories we had doing the work.
We look at a fire pit, where most people would only see a pile of ashes, and we see
memories.
Times of long nights and friends.
Times, which have long since burnt out.
When someone looks upon it they see old rusty tractors, old pieces of farm equipment, a
shop filled with machines and chips of metal, empty oil cans, and a "funky cool
machine".
And still no one see the millions of memories.
No one but us.
I've since had to leave the house but the house never left me.
I still carry all those memories with me everywhere I go.
And when I start to talk about Ginny's and atlas casting no one knows what I'm talking
about.
No one but us.
Tim was the best step-dad anyone could ask for.
I don't think that his house is really my favorite place.
I think that as long as I was with him I was in my favorite place.
How is it that the three words that were hardly ever said, were heard over and over, and
can still be heard today?
By no one
But us.
Scott Maitland
Southport High School PTSA
Indianapolis, IN
Read This Artist's Statement
It's not much to anyone but us.
No one understands the true beauty of it.
No one could look upon it and just stare, stare for hours on end and not think of the same
memory twice.
No one can look at the old Mack truck and think of as many things as us.
No one can look at the overgrown patch of land outlined with fence posts and remember
hours of long work.
No one but us.
But even as we look at these things we don't think of the hours of work, but the fun and
memories we had doing the work.
We look at a fire pit, where most people would only see a pile of ashes, and we see
memories.
Times of long nights and friends.
Times, which have long since burnt out.
When someone looks upon it they see old rusty tractors, old pieces of farm equipment, a
shop filled with machines and chips of metal, empty oil cans, and a "funky cool
machine".
And still no one see the millions of memories.
No one but us.
I've since had to leave the house but the house never left me.
I still carry all those memories with me everywhere I go.
And when I start to talk about Ginny's and atlas casting no one knows what I'm talking
about.
No one but us.
Tim was the best step-dad anyone could ask for.
I don't think that his house is really my favorite place.
I think that as long as I was with him I was in my favorite place.
How is it that the three words that were hardly ever said, were heard over and over, and
can still be heard today?
By no one
But us.
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