I do not remember how exactly I became interested in medicine cabinets but I suspect it was when I was in a bathroom that was not mine, alone, like any other time I use a bathroom. I don't have a habit of breaking into to someone else's medicine cabinet but it occurred to me that it was sort of funny a box that could potentially hold something very personal was in front of my face, available to be secretly peeked in.
They say a steamy bathroom is not an ideal place to store medication but it is still a convenient place for storing items used on our bodies and must tell something about the owner. Mine for example is a very boring one, and only contains standard items off the shelf like toothbrush, dental floss, toothpaste, nail files, a tweezer, a box of bandages, q-tips, hair ties, hair products, a bottle of sunblock lotion. Even so you can tell that the owner is a female, who goes to a Japanese hair dresser, and the minimum maintenance is all she needs.
Medicine cabinets are American things to me. The two houses I lived in Japan did not have one. All ten homes I lived in New York, including the apartment only accessible by a metal fire escape through the courtyard attached to the end of the next building had one.
In horror movies when a heroine stands in front of an open medicine cabinet and closes the door, everyone knows what will come next.
I like bottles - for they can contain things, remedies. I sat down in front of the wheel and made about 100 of clay bottles with a small mouth and squeezed them together side by side so each of them takes the form of the adjacent bottles. Making these bottles reminded me of things I used to treasure, like the first perfume I bought when I was 18, sample bottles of skincare product I collected as a teenager, and bottles of candy that looked like a tiny star from the local candy shop in my childhood.