3-Legged Stool

Aug 12 2013


A 3-legged stool
in a salt-box house
at the end of the road.

In dark fine-grained wood,
the seat is round

bevel-edged
worn smooth.
3 unadorned legs
evenly splayed
sit flush with the ground.
Any less, and it would topple,
while a 4th
would be 1 too many.

This is poetry, in wood
but far more useful.
A 3-legged stool
is elegant, minimalist
utility distilled,
the beauty of something
true to itself.

As functional as its house,
4 walls, a roof, a door
one window, looking out.
As strangers come
looking for something
at the end of the road.
Then re-trace their steps
searching still.

So many 3-legged stools
worth nothing, tossed out.
Forgotten
like the words of a poem
heard over and over
until all they are
is sound,
worn down
by repetition.
As scorned
as the simplest Haiku
self-evident truth.

I think the first time I heard 3-legged stool used as metaphor for a number both necessary and sufficient was in relation to the treatment of diabetes, in which the 3 legs were diet, exercise, and insulin. I came across it again today; although in this case, in a more literal form. It was photo of a piece by the brilliant artist Ai Weiwei. This sculpture is composed entirely of 3-legged stools: in his commentary on China's breakneck modernization, the stools symbolize its hastily discarded and scorned past. As usual, Weiwei accomplishes this on a large scale, with perfect economy and visual wit. 



The salt-box house is the iconic structure of outport Newfoundland, and as quickly fading into history. It looks just as it sounds: a simple rectangle, as economical and utilitarian as the 3-legged stool. (I couldn't find that particular picture, but the only one I recall seeing prior to writing this was as flat-roofed and simple as a box of Sifto salt laid on its side. However, according to Google, the peaked roof is more typical; and 2 stories appears to be common. Oh well. The idea still works. In the end, I managed to find a picture that approximates my recollection.) This is exactly the sort of thing you'd expect subsistent and self-reliant fishermen to build for themselves, with few resources but basic tools and their hands. The name, too, is powerfully evocative. Because what could be suggestive of something foundational and abiding than salt: the "salt of the earth"; a rock that is ubiquitous, essential, radically simple chemically, and prized throughout human history -- or at least until we learned to mine it industrially. Think of the etymology of the word "salary"; think of Gandhi and the salt marches protesting the British raj.

I favour simple design: a lack of clutter; furniture that's minimalist, utilitarian, unornamented. This is like the best poetry, where less is more. And I am reminded of the value of the old abiding truths; which, in all the superficial sophistication of modernity and youth, we too easily disdain. 

I can't think of an object more beautiful than the 3-legged stool: the perfect combination of simplicity and utility.