I felt like writing, so I took a stroll around....
Could also be titled: A Burgler's Guide
I leave the room to enter a short hallway which holds doorways that lead to other rooms of the house. To the left is a small bathroom which I renovated a few years ago. The shower recess is lined with cement board, an idea of mine to save myself the hassle of learning how to tile. It has been there a while now and shows no sign of wearing. The board was given five coats of marine paint and a finish of clear acrylic . I guessed that if the paint was durable enough for the local fishing fleet, it would then last a while against the trial of humans showering, and, I get to change the colour should I ever feel so inclined.
Leaving the bathroom I step through the door to my left and into the art room, or, as my daughter sometimes calls it; the creating room. There are brushes and paints and pencils spread out on low tables crowded around an easel, and along one wall is a large bookshelf which houses more than just books. Across the room a small window sits centrally above a wooden chest of drawers that is covered with objects that have varying levels of functionality – even an ornament has its function. Alongside that there is a large robe which acts as a linen cupboard and in one corner there is an old stereo that I plug my laptop into. The robust speakers do a good job of filtering music through the house. I turn and am now heading up the hallway towards two doorways that face each other.
On the left there is a room which, until not too long ago, was kept mostly shut. It housed much of my junk, and that is now housed at the local dump or recycling depot, and some of it has no doubt found its way into other people's houses. The southern side of the house does not capture as much sun, and yet a carefully placed prism manages to send a rainbow beam – albeit briefly – through the open door and hallway into my kitchen every sunny sunset of the year. If I'm lucky I can catch it. This room also holds the pianola that a friend and I wheeled a few hundred metres or so up a slight incline on a piano trolley about nine years ago. The pianola has been moved a few times since, although now it has found its final resting place... I think. There is a fold-out futon against the window which I sometimes lay on to read on warm summer days. Sometimes I fold it out for visitors. I walk across into a lounge room.
On my left there is another fold-out sofa bed which I also sometimes fold out for visitors. More often it is used for my daughter and I to watch DVDs on the television that is never used to watch Television. It sits on a big square coffee table in one corner and spends most of its existence with a red silk sheet draped over it. The screen only ever comes alive for those DVDs and on the occasions when I need to program CDs through the sleep function which in turn helps settle my daughter to bed. There is a large mat in the centre of the room where I lay some mornings and go through a stretching routine. The room also conveniently holds a small PA system where I practice strumming a guitar in the hope that I will improve my live sound technique. From this room I enter my bedroom.
The walls of this, the largest room of the house, are painted a soft-to-bright orange. I'm not sure exactly why I chose this colour but it is not at all unsettling. There is a covered-over sky-light which was installed by my brother when this room was a creative space, to which it may one day return. A double bed sits off-centre against a far wall and along another is my daughter's single, complete with reading lamp and bed-head bookshelf. I'm slowly coaxing her into taking the pianola room as hers' but might have to wait until she is a little older. She only spends one weekend a fortnight with me at this point in time, so the interruption of privacy is only minimal. Actually, I think it's kind of cute, and I know that she certainly does.
I'm back in the kitchen now and I look outside into the garden, which is of course, another story.
Words by Eli
Read 647 times
Written on 2011-03-02 at 11:47
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Could also be titled: A Burgler's Guide
My House
The delicate aroma of garden herbs fills my tiny kitchen space. I imagine the scent developing a form as it mists through the early light creeping along the wooden bench-top in one corner of the room. Beyond a doorway there is a venetian blind half-drawn over a western window. It catches the late afternoon sun which sends a fan of light across the main wall; a large blue expanse, vacant except for a painting which sits neatly half-way up as if positioned there by an installation artist – which it was. There are objects scattered over the table where I write; books, unopened bills and letters, a torch which should be in the car, note pads, a phone, reading glasses, a pepper grinder, tape measure, biscuits from my mother and two jars of relish from a friend.I leave the room to enter a short hallway which holds doorways that lead to other rooms of the house. To the left is a small bathroom which I renovated a few years ago. The shower recess is lined with cement board, an idea of mine to save myself the hassle of learning how to tile. It has been there a while now and shows no sign of wearing. The board was given five coats of marine paint and a finish of clear acrylic . I guessed that if the paint was durable enough for the local fishing fleet, it would then last a while against the trial of humans showering, and, I get to change the colour should I ever feel so inclined.
Leaving the bathroom I step through the door to my left and into the art room, or, as my daughter sometimes calls it; the creating room. There are brushes and paints and pencils spread out on low tables crowded around an easel, and along one wall is a large bookshelf which houses more than just books. Across the room a small window sits centrally above a wooden chest of drawers that is covered with objects that have varying levels of functionality – even an ornament has its function. Alongside that there is a large robe which acts as a linen cupboard and in one corner there is an old stereo that I plug my laptop into. The robust speakers do a good job of filtering music through the house. I turn and am now heading up the hallway towards two doorways that face each other.
On the left there is a room which, until not too long ago, was kept mostly shut. It housed much of my junk, and that is now housed at the local dump or recycling depot, and some of it has no doubt found its way into other people's houses. The southern side of the house does not capture as much sun, and yet a carefully placed prism manages to send a rainbow beam – albeit briefly – through the open door and hallway into my kitchen every sunny sunset of the year. If I'm lucky I can catch it. This room also holds the pianola that a friend and I wheeled a few hundred metres or so up a slight incline on a piano trolley about nine years ago. The pianola has been moved a few times since, although now it has found its final resting place... I think. There is a fold-out futon against the window which I sometimes lay on to read on warm summer days. Sometimes I fold it out for visitors. I walk across into a lounge room.
On my left there is another fold-out sofa bed which I also sometimes fold out for visitors. More often it is used for my daughter and I to watch DVDs on the television that is never used to watch Television. It sits on a big square coffee table in one corner and spends most of its existence with a red silk sheet draped over it. The screen only ever comes alive for those DVDs and on the occasions when I need to program CDs through the sleep function which in turn helps settle my daughter to bed. There is a large mat in the centre of the room where I lay some mornings and go through a stretching routine. The room also conveniently holds a small PA system where I practice strumming a guitar in the hope that I will improve my live sound technique. From this room I enter my bedroom.
The walls of this, the largest room of the house, are painted a soft-to-bright orange. I'm not sure exactly why I chose this colour but it is not at all unsettling. There is a covered-over sky-light which was installed by my brother when this room was a creative space, to which it may one day return. A double bed sits off-centre against a far wall and along another is my daughter's single, complete with reading lamp and bed-head bookshelf. I'm slowly coaxing her into taking the pianola room as hers' but might have to wait until she is a little older. She only spends one weekend a fortnight with me at this point in time, so the interruption of privacy is only minimal. Actually, I think it's kind of cute, and I know that she certainly does.
I'm back in the kitchen now and I look outside into the garden, which is of course, another story.
Words by Eli
Read 647 times
Written on 2011-03-02 at 11:47
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