Extreme ironing is “the latest danger sport that combines the thrills of an extreme outdoor activity with the satisfaction of a well-pressed shirt.”
Lacking the adventurous outdoor skills typical of Extreme Ironing, I adopted my own take on the art form… a gentler, more urban take. I took it on the road… to cornfields, rivers and abandoned buildings. It was sublime. It was absurd. It was magnificent.
I painted my iron gold, and carried it like a trophy. I kept both my board and iron in the car, should I become compelled. It was really a solitary practice… but also one that required some photographic documentation.
Nobody seemed to mind, that I ironed in the produce section. I was never questioned, never approached. Perhaps I was so at peace, that I blended into the scene… that I belonged.
I don’t quite remember how it all started, or how it was put to rest. I was a young woman, iron in hand, gently swaying… perhaps a bit lonely, a bit manic, or both.