A spool of paper covered wire spoke to me. It had heft and mass. I could sense the winding tension and density as soon as I picked it up. The non-color was perfect. The paper covering the wire was especially sexy: it was flat, like it had been rolled through a pasta making machine, but there was a raised channel running through it: that was the wire. The edges were uneven and even a little sharp. It was very strong, common, available, and inexpensive. My perfect object: florist wire.