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Join host Kate LB as she uncovers the extraordinary stories hidden within ordinary objects. From inherited family treasures to forgotten vintage finds, each episode explores how the things we keep, collect, and cherish connect us to the past and shape our future.
Through personal reflections, family histories, and the tales behind vintage discoveries, Dust & Devotion reveals the emotional power of tangible objects and the memories they hold. Whether it's a dusty antique from an estate sale or a beloved heirloom passed down through generations, every item has a story to tell—and Kate is here to help you listen.
Perfect for vintage enthusiasts, history lovers, and anyone who believes that our belongings are more than just stuff—they're the storytellers of our lives.
New episodes explore different objects, different stories, and the timeless connections that bind us to the things we treasure.
Kate LB: Picture this: the Industrial
Revolution is in full swing.
The air is thick with coal smog.
All the factories are churning
out identical mass-produced items,
and the art world, well, the art
world is aggressively boring.
This is 1848.
Enter the Royal Academy of Arts.
At the time, they were the
gatekeepers of culture.
They taught that there was exactly
one correct way to paint, and it
was modeled entirely after the
High Renaissance master Raphael.
Everything had to be dark, muddy,
stately, and perfectly idealized.
For example, if you painted a
tree, it shouldn't look like a real
scruffy oak tree from down the lane.
It had to look like a majestic
theoretical idea of a tree.
So three art school dropouts,
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, John
Everett Millais, and William Holman
Hunt, decided they'd had enough.
To them, this establishment style was
slosh, which is a wonderfully biting
Victorian insult for formulaic trash.
They were teenagers, essentially, and like
any good bunch of 19-year-olds who think
they know better than their professors,
they naturally started a secret society.
They called themselves the
Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, or the PRB.
Their name was a direct public
middle finger to the establishment.
They were saying, "We're
skipping Raphael entirely.
We're gonna go back to the vintage stuff.
We want the art from before things got
corporate and slick and formulaic."
And out of this artistic act of
rebellion came one of the most
influential design periods in modern
history, the Arts and Crafts movement.
So I can't help but think when I
look around and see all of these
gray-boxed buildings where curved
colorful shapes once were, perhaps this
is one example where history is our
best and our most powerful teacher.
Welcome back to Dust and
Devotion, a podcast about stuff.
I'm your host, Kate LB, and last time we
talked about the analog recalibration,
that tug of war between our digital
efficiency and our soul's need for
something we can actually hold.
But today, I wanna take
that a step further.
When we think of counterculture,
we're usually thinking of things
like protest signs or underground
music or even radical art.
We don't always think of a 1920s
typewriter or a mid-century sideboard.
But in a world that is obsessed with the
new, the next, and the now, choosing the
then is a quiet, beautiful subversion.
Buying vintage reinforces the idea of
time travel, but without the baggage.
When I source for Good Luck Fox
vintage and then you find that
perfect piece for your home, we
are embracing the craftsmanship
and the aesthetic of another era.
We're saying, "I want the lines of
the '60s, but I'm leaving the '60s
social constraints at the door."
It's a way of reclaiming
history on our own terms.
I can't help but feel that choosing
vintage, whether it's conscious
or unconscious, it helps us to
combat planned obsolescence.
And as much as I hate to say it,
our society is built on the upgrade.
Your phone is designed to slow down
and stop working, and unfortunately,
your furniture is often designed
to wear out in just three years.
So when you buy something that has
already survived 50 years, you're exiting
that cycle and you are saying "no" to
the landfill and "yes" to endurance.
And really, when it comes down
to it, it's about the community.
The world of collecting isn't just about
the stuff, it's also about all the people.
From the genealogy enthusiasts I've met
lately to the niche collectors at markets,
there are these incredible social networks
built around the aesthetic of the old.
We aren't just consumers.
We're curators of a shared history.
We're finding each other through the
objects the rest of the world forgot.
So today, we're exploring why the
oldest things in your house might just
be the most radical things you own.
This is Episode Four,
Little Acts of Vintage.
When we first began today's episode,
we learned that the Pre-Raphaelites
were the first true vintage subculture.
They designed their own clothes,
their own stained glass, and their
own furniture, and they understood
that the objects that we surround
ourselves with, they aren't just decor.
They are the scenery of our lives,
and that's what made them so radical
because it wasn't just what they
painted, but how they did it.
As an example, take Millais'
famous painting of Ophelia.
To paint Ophelia floating down the river,
he didn't just invent it or make it up.
He bought an antique silver embroidered
wedding dress from a thrift shop.
Sound familiar?
And he made his 19-year-old model,
Elizabeth Siddal, lie fully clothed
in a bathtub filled with water for
hours a day kept warm only by a few oil
lamps placed underneath the tub, and
one day, those lamps, they went out.
He was so hyper-focused on painting
the precise lace of the vintage
gown that he didn't even notice.
And Elizabeth, well, she didn't
even complain because she was
just as devoted to the radical
nature of the art as he was.
And unfortunately, she
ended up contracting severe
pneumonia because of it.
By the 1860s, a second generation
picked up the torch and took it into
the living room, led by a man whose
name you probably know if you love
vintage wallpaper, William Morris.
Morris looked around at the Victorian
world and realized that people were
filling their homes with cheap,
gaudy machine-stamped furniture
that had no human touch left in it.
So naturally, he and his friends
took the Pre-Raphaelite ethos and
moved it into the domestic space.
They began hand weaving tapestries,
hand-printed wallpaper with block
prints inspired by medieval forests, and
building heavy, honest oak furniture.
They were trying to create a
total work of art inside the home.
This was the birth of the Arts and
Crafts movement, and it was built on a
single legendary rule that I think every
vintage lover lives by: have nothing
in your houses that you do not know to
be useful or believe to be beautiful.
And by the turn of the 20th century,
Art Nouveau staged a full-blown organic
mutiny against the gray metallic
rigidity of the Industrial Revolution.
Suddenly, structural ironwork was
curving like a whiplash, stained glass
was blooming like lilies, and every door
handle, floor tile, and dining chair
was part of a single fluid symphony.
They didn't want you to just hang a
painting of a forest on your wall, they
wanted you to live inside the trees.
It was an incredibly theatrical way
of saying a massive "no" to the cold
geometry of the factory machine.
So, as the decades marched on, the
nature of the rebellion started to shift.
By the time the Bauhaus movement took
over Germany in the 1920s, the goal
wasn't to hide from the modern world,
but to conquer it with intention.
They blew up the barriers between
high art and everyday craft, even
launching a legendary theater
workshop where they treated the human
body itself as an object in space.
They dressed dancers in rigid
geometric costumes just to see how
they collided with the scenery.
For the Bauhaus crew, the home and
the stage, they were the exact same
thing, laboratories for proving that
humans could live with total radical
purpose in a sterile, automated world.
By the time we reached the mid-century
avant-garde of the '40s and '50s,
designers like Charles and Ray Eames,
they started using gritty industrial
materials like molded plywood and
fiberglass to democratize the home.
They wanted a future that was light,
functional, and visually honest,
where the structure of a chair or
the line of a room was exposed,
proud, and accessible to everyone.
The rebellion flipped completely
on its head, but it kept that
exact same rebellious soul.
Forget the watered-down
mass-produced versions we see
in the big box stores today.
The original post-war pioneers
were design insurgents.
And they ultimately proved that simplicity
could in and of itself be a battle cry.
Okay, bear with me here while
I try to pronounce this.
We have been talking about the total
work of art, and it has a German
word that's typically used with it,
and that word is a Gesamtkunstwerk.
And yes, it sounds like a heavy
academic-sounding sort of word, but
trust me, at its heart, it is a romantic
rebellious idea that everything in
our physical environment, it should be
intentional, soulful, and connected.
And if we wanna see this rebellion
in action today, there is one very
specific place where it is alive
and well, and that's the theater.
In the theater, Gesamtkunstwerk
isn't just a philosophy, it is
the entire job description because
every prop has a lineage, every
backdrop, it has a heartbeat.
And so to help me pull back the
curtain, see what I did there, on how
these intentional worlds are built,
I'm joined by two women who live
and breathe the total work of art.
We're exploring how theater
mirrors the vintage ethos, and
that the story behind the stuff
is what actually makes it matter.
So let's talk about the
rebellion of the beautiful, the
intentional, and the handmade.
I'm so excited to welcome my two guests
today, both of whom are dear friends of
mine, Donna Reinhold and Amy Kellett.
Welcome to Dust and Devotion.
And Donna and Amy are both theater
professionals who have spent their
careers in theater production,
both different aspects of it.
And I think that they bring a really
unique perspective on how objects help
to create and tell a really powerful
story and transport the audience.
So without any further ado,
Donna, we'd love to hear a little
bit more about your background.
Donna: I am primarily a stage manager
or production manager, so I often
am communicating between departments
and helping designers speak to each
other, as well as making sure that
things are moving along on time
and that things are maintained.
Um, it's a lot of managing personalities
as well as managing the actual
physical elements of the stage.
Lots of lists, lots of paperwork, and
maintaining the integrity of each design
element and the director's vision.
Kate LB: Now, Amy, over to you.
I think you bring a totally different
perspective and one that is so deeply
connected with objects and spaces.
Amy: I am spending more time as a props
designer and supervisor, which involves
gathering all of both the hand props,
which are, like, the small objects that
people use to tell the stories on stage,
but it also involves usually gathering
all of the furniture, coordination
with the set designer, and usually
lighting fixtures and dressing, which
is all of the things that would be on
a stage that aren't necessarily picked
up or touched or interacted with, but
are more like the decor in the room.
And, uh, I also have been for many,
many years a, a scenic artist, which
is the person who paints the scenery.
One of the reasons I like working
in theater is because different
challenges and things that come
up with almost any project in
working out how to do something.
Kate LB: Let's start with Donna.
In my line of work, as you know, I look at
objects for their history, and in yours,
a vintage suitcase or a specific letter
isn't an antique, it's a cue, right?
So it has to be the exact same
square inch of space every
single night for the illusion.
And also, if I'm completely
wrong here, tell me.
Donna: It has to be so
specific, and not only to the
audience, but to the performers.
And that's true of pieces that, like
you said, a suitcase that they have to
pick up and in the same way every night.
You need to make sure that it is
turned the same direction so that
when they set it down on the floor
and go to open it, they're not
having to flip it over, futz around.
Things inside have to be the way that
the actor expects them to be, because
you want them to be able to focus
on their part of telling the story.
You don't need them to be distracted
by unexpected elements on stage.
I feel like it's often less
about the props and more
about the people using them.
For example, there is a company
in town that Amy and I have both
worked with a lot that is very hard
on their props and their scenery.
They're very physical, and I remember
getting some prop guns for a rehearsal,
and on the first day, they had
broken five out of our 11 prop guns-
Kate LB: Wow
⦠Donna: just because
they're rough on things.
So maintenance, making sure that
things are able to stand up to the
use that they're being utilized for.
As a stage manager, something we do
is we write reports at the end of
rehearsals that will help communicate
to a props designer or a scenic
designer or a costume designer the
ways that those items need to function.
So our scenic designer may know that
there need to be two chairs in this
room, but my rehearsal report might
say, "One of these chairs needs to
be able to have an actor stand on it.
One of these chairs needs to
be able to slide across the
floor during a sword fight."
And then that gives information to the
props designer of how that item not only
needs to look, but how it gets used.
So those things can be tricky.
It's a lot of communication.
It's not just creating
a piece to be displayed.
Kate LB: Right?
It's how is it interacted with
from the actor's standpoint,
from the audience viewpoint.
It's so much more, I think, than I
gave it credit for in my head about
the level of detail required for
everything to create this illusion,
and I think we take it for granted.
Donna: Mm-hmm.
Kate LB: You just have things that you
interact and exist with in the world,
and then recreating that accurately
is a whole nother ball of wax.
Donna: I was going to say, it actuallyâ¦
This is kind of a tangent, but it
occurred to me recently putting a show
together that it is amazing how you
forget in the rehearsal room or on the
stage how things function in real life.
Like, we were placing light
switches, and none of us could
agree on heights of light switches.
For things that you have every day in
your home, trying to recreate them in the
space is oddly challenging, and you end
up sitting there going, "Wait a minute.
How, how do these things work?
I don't think about them on a daily basis.
I just interact with them."
And then when you're trying to recreate
them for interacting with them, it can-
be a bit of a like, "What the heck?"
And, uh, it can be a bit tricky.
Amy: I mean, I think that's
part of the fun of doing it
and why I like doing props.
Yeah, and it, and it's all, like, building
skills too, 'cause even if I don't
necessarily use that particular mold or
that particular material, a lot of the
materials function in a similar way.
I like learning skills or, like,
reinforcing the skills that I have.
One upholstery book I used a lot when
I taught myself how to do upholstery,
and there's a fake food book that I've
used a couple of times to get ideas
for how to make different fake foods.
Kate LB: Wait, what now?
There's an actual book for fake food?
Amy: Oh, yeah.
There are multiple books about,
yeah, different techniques and,
like, recommendations for materials
and ideas to make fake foods.
A lot of times, though, it's working
out, like, what you have or, like, what
you can find that will come together to
make something the way you wanna do it.
Kate LB: What exactly are
you making fake food out of?
'Cause in my mind, I'm playing
with my daughter's clay, and
I'm just like, "Oh, look.
It's grapes," and it's
just a bunch of circles.
Amy: It really, again, depends on
how it needs to be interacted with.
You can use clay and Sculpey and things
like that, and, uh, you can cast things.
I had to make a raw turkey this year that
had to get washed and prepped on stage.
Uh, obviously we didn't want to
use a real raw turkey 'cause then
they would be dealing with raw
turkey juices over everything on
the set, and that's not sanitary.
It also needed to be able to be,
like, rubbed in oil and, like,
have seasonings put on it and,
washed and all of this, stuff.
So it needed to be out of something
that could stand up to all of
that and get cleaned and not
get gross and moldy or anything.
So we ended up making it out
of silicone casting material.
Kate LB: I would expect food is
specifically difficult to create
the illusion of because everybody
is so intimately aware of what a
turkey should look like, right?
I think there's probably very few people
who don't know what a turkey looks like.
Did you mold a raw turkey?
Amy: I did mold a frozen raw turkey-
⦠which was part of the challenge.
Thought that in my great wisdom I would
just be able to eyeball how much I needed
for the mold, which was highly incorrect.
And so I ran out of material for the mold.
At the same time, the thing I was
casting was a frozen turkey, and so
as it was sitting there both to get
cast and just while waiting for the
things, I kept having to, like, rewrap
it up and put it in our shop freezer
to keep frozen so that it wasn't
unfreezing as it was in this mold.
So it was a s- that was a small nightmare.
The rest of it was fairly okay.
If I had just, if I had just actually used
the calculator that they nicely provide
on the website and bought enough of the
mold material, so it pr- it probably
wouldn't have been quite so stressful.
Kate LB: This leads me
to my next question.
From a theater production perspective,
why is it worth fighting so hard for
the structure of a temporary physical
handmade world when the rest of society
is telling us to just go digital?
Donna: Gosh, I actually personally
struggle with how temporary theatrical
productions are a lot of times.
Partially though, because there's so much
waste involved in building a show for it
to only last three weeks, and the reality
of not being able to store things for
a long period of time to be used again.
There's so much waste,
and that bothers me.
But I think the more we push toward
digital and things like that, and staying
in our own homes and not spending a full
night out at the theater, I think that
makes it possibly even more of a valuable
thing because it's unusual and because
you will experience the things like
the light switch not turning on at the
right time, things that only the people
who are in that room will experience.
But I could also go onto a huge
tangent about where are you
going to go to talk about it?
Restaurants will be closed by
the end of-- If your show started
at 8:00, you get out at 11
Kate LB: Right.
And that's so important after theater.
I mean, even with our kids when
we take them, the car ride home
is always the debrief, is always-
Right
the "what was your favorite part, and why
did you like it, and what was the coolest
thing that happened during this time?"
And have you heard about this, the
disappearance of our third spaces?
Donna: Yes, absolutely.
Kate LB: That's, that's,
that's what it is, right?
Those communal locations are evaporating.
So the third spaces, I think, are
integral to things like theater and
things like life in general because
the magic of live production is 100%
there, but there is something missing
that allows the importance of that magic
to be communicated, to be enjoyed, to
be sort of like reveled in after it's
done, and it's missing, to your point.
Donna: Yeah, because even as someone who
is highly involved in the arts and in
theater, if I am going to go watch Much
Ado About Nothing and I'm going to drive
an hour to get there and find parking and
see the show, and then immediately drive
the hour back, I could watch Emma Thompson
in Much Ado About Nothing from my couch.
And so I think it's a combination of
what stories we're telling, the ways
we're presenting them, and the need
to cultivate the community around it.
Amy: This is not on the topic of
third spaces, but I did also just
wanna, just purely because you used
the example of Much Ado, and I saw a
production of Much Ado this year that
was staged in such a way that was such
a refreshing take on the production.
I did just wanna bring in that
part of the value of live theater,
especially taking something that is
so classic as a Shakespeare like Much
Ado, you can get very, very different
production experiences depending on
where you see it, which can fully
illuminate different parts of the
story or tell the story in a new way.
Donna: But Amy and I talk often about
things like we, we will skip the big
shows, we will skip the big tours.
But if like a small theater in Herndon,
Virginia, that has a stage that is 35
feet wide and 25 feet deep announced
that they were doing Phantom of the
Opera, I would be there tomorrow, right?
Because I want to see how are they going
to do Phantom of the Opera in this space.
And there is something really
interesting about making things
work for where they need to be.
And I feel like that actually
does tie back into the props
conversation too, and the elements
that you have to create for those.
Kate LB: Right?
It can be totally insane and make you
gasp when someone does something super
simple in a random new sort of way.
How do we convey impressive
meaning and an impressive illusion
maybe in an unconventional way?
I'm a practical prop fan.
Donna: Course you are
⦠Kate LB: Right?
Like, I love seeing the stuff on stage.
We saw a great production here of
9 to 5, and they had this entire
mid-century modern shelving system
built into one of the movable walls.
And sure enough, on that was a very rare,
very expensive bittersweet swung vase.
It was a real one.
And I was in the middle of the
production, I gasped and, like, smacked
my arm over- ⦠at Eric, and I was
like, "Oh my gosh, is that real?
And if it's real, that's terrifying,
but very cool that they went so far as
to say, 'Okay, the boss of a company
like this would have this cool-looking
mid-century vase in their office.'"
Donna: Mm-hmm.
Kate LB: And I'll tell you, if that
thing wasn't real, my goodness,
did they do a good job recreating
it because it was there, and it
was, like, glowing on the stage.
Amy: Frequently I do like, if I have
the budget and it's something that's
relatively available, I do like to
work with vintage stuff if I can.
Sometimes the needs of a production either
that's not possible because either the
item doesn't exist or it's so expensive
that it's not feasible within the budget.
And a lot of it comes
down to just details.
Again, I'm speaking very generally now.
Like the 30-foot rule in theater
where, oh, we don't bother
to paint the back of this.
Oh, we can paint this
very abstractly becauseâ¦
And in fact, we want to because we know
that this is going to be very dimly lit.
It's gonna be a proscenium theater.
People are gonna be far back from it
in an audience, and we really just
want some very strong highlights.
Otherwise, if we paint it
naturalistically, it's gonna kind
of wash out under stage lights.
So all of those elements depend on
how precise things need to be or
want to be in some ways, 'cause there
can be value, like I said, in having
things be slightly more abstract.
Kate LB: I always think about some of
these big prop houses when I was working
in film and television, some of these
great huge warehouses where they just
have all of these items from productions
or things that have just been, like,
salvaged and sourced over the years.
And you have all of this stuff and all of
this history because you never know when
you're gonna need it for a production,
when it will become useful to you.
But it's like these things have
past lives, but then on top of that,
they also have production lives, and
I think that that's just so cool.
And I've heard about costume productions
too where an actor may be getting
to wear a very special piece that
was worn by an original actor, and
that always just fascinates me, the
second, third, fourth lives that
all of these different pieces have.
That's actually my dream job.
If I could run an entire salvage
and prop house, I would 100%
do that 'cause I love stuff.
Donna: And it makes you wish that someone
was recording these histories, right?
Kate LB: Yes.
That's the part that's a little
bit heartbreaking 'cause you're
holding this thing and you're
like, "This is really old.
Where did it come from?
Who owned it?
What was the story behind it?
And then how many times was this
then used by umpteen people?"
So that part always makes me a little sad.
Donna: Yep, I agree.
Kate LB: But also, I'm hungry for it.
I want to know.
So I feel like if I ran a prop
house, I'd keep excellent records.
Does it ever make you sad
at the end of a production?
I know we talked a lot about the sort of
uncomfortable feeling around waste and
things like that, but if you've worked
so hard on something, both to craft or
to do the stage management aspect of
it, do you ever get sad that it's done?
Amy: There's frequently a good
balance struck with, uh, production
management teams that are-- have
fewer hoarding sensibilities than I
do that push me to get rid of things
'cause if I could keep all of the
things, I would keep all of the things.
Donna: I certainly have some props
in my house and things from shows.
Sometimes it's just a piece
that has turned out so well.
Sometimes it's because a
show process meant so much.
I'm getting better about it, but it's
very hard to let go of these things
that, even if I didn't create them,
these are little works of art that
are made for this four-week run, and I
always find that kind of devastating.
It is helpful to me when they are
built in such a way that they clearly
won't last, 'cause then I'm like,
"Okay, yes, this can take a photo.
This can go away."
But sometimes things
are really built well.
I have a hand puppet that I will
probably never get rid of that was
custom-made for Winnie-the-Pooh.
I'll probably never get rid of that.
And then also sometimes props get a
life beyond what they were intended
for, and become a part of the theater.
There were these moose antlers.
They were built for a production of If
You Give a Moose a Muffin, and it was
a hat with these huge moose antlers.
And we not only used that again in
Tiny Tim's Christmas, I know it was
used in other shows, but it also
is brought out for the summer camps
because the staff knows it exists,
and so they bring it out, and that is
a piece that gets played with often.
There is a mounted deer head that gets put
onto as many of the sets as we can, and we
will tell scenic designers, "You know, we
have Kevin, and he might look great here."
Things like that.
So yeah, when they can be utilized again,
it can become fun and it becomes part
of the theater's character and lore.
Amy: So what Donna was saying
about having items in her home
reminded me of this story.
The table that I'm actually sitting
at right now is, I think, a 1950s,
I think, uh, kitchen table.
A lot of the vintage stuff I
source for shows is usually
through Facebook Marketplace.
And so I came up to this, the person who
was selling this, this table and chairs.
And the woman that was selling it
to me went into this whole monologue
about how this was the table that she
and her husband bought when they moved
into this house, and they-- it has
been their kitchen table throughout
their whole lives and their children
growing up, and they are so excited that
somebody else can have this table now
a- and it can be a part of their lives,
and this table will continue through.
We had the show, and it was great,
and it was exactly what they wanted.
And w- and the show closed, and I was
like, "Well, I can't put this into a
stock where it could disappear or just,
like, r- like, I feel like I'm personally
responsible for this table now."
So I just went ahead and bought the
table and chairs off of the theater.
Usually, we- ⦠if you're using a show,
you'll get, like, a very discounted
rate to buy something, especially
if the theater doesn't want it.
And so now it is, has to, has
to permanently be a part of my
home for the rest of my life.
Took on the moral obligation to
caretake this table and chairs.
Kate LB: Well, this has been absolutely
wonderful hearing all of your stories
and seeing how this is all connected
to the total work of art, which I
think theater exemplifies perfectly.
So Donna and Amy, thank you so
much for your time today, and
I hope you have a great day!
And with that, the stage lights fade, the
curtain drops, and suddenly we're back.
I'm struck by how full circle this
conversation feels because we started
today looking all the way back to
the 1840s to the Pre-Raphaelites,
those young art punks who rejected
the sleek, formulaic standards of
their day by obsessing over the past.
And they proved that looking backward
isn't really a retreat, it's a rebellion.
Vintage has always been a counterculture,
a quiet refusal to let society
suture its mass-produced expectations
onto our homes and onto our skin.
And Amy and Donna showed us that in
the world of theater, the complete
work of art, the rebellion, well,
it's alive in every single thing
on a stage, the ultimate proof that
expression is not always with the lips.
Long before an actor delivers a line,
the physical objects around them, a
tarnished brass key, a frayed velvet
coat, an old leather book, they've
already spoken because they build a
universe out of texture and history.
And in our own lives, we're
doing that exact same stagecraft.
The vintage pieces we hunt for,
the odd art on our walls, the
childhood stuffy kept safe on
a shelf , these are our props.
They're our quiet, brave declarations
that say, "I will not be standardized."
Choosing the old over the new is how
we build a sanctuary of self-expression
that no algorithm or trend can touch.
A huge thank you to Amy and Donna for
sharing their stagecraft and their deep
devotion to detail, as well as for helping
us see how the magic of storytelling
lives in the tangible things we hold.
And to you listening, take a moment
tonight to look around your space.
Notice the props you've chosen for
your own life, and recognize the quiet
rebellion you're living every single day.
I'm Kate LB, and this
is Dust and Devotion.
Until next time, curate rebelliously,
stay devoted to the weird and the worn,
and remember, live your life tangibly.