The house constitutes a body of images that give mankind proofs or illusions of reality. We are constantly reimagining its reality …
GASTON BACHELARD – The Poetics of Space
The windows are open; the wind sweeps in, papers rustle, the curtains billow like a full skirt on a party dress. I look out through the window frames. The world is captured between parallels and perpendiculars. The windows themselves offer the taunt of transparency.
I attempt to convince myself this scenario isn’t so bad. It’s the only way I can keep myself inside, at the computer, ‘working’. I focus on the immediate space, the domesticity that houses me against the liberty of the outdoors. Every day I awake in this house, within the same four walls. I am someone who is easily bored, yet I am not bored with this repetition.
This structure around me is more than a sum of its parts. More than joists, bricks and architraves. More than stairs, ceilings and drain pipes. It is me and I am it.
I've been reading some of Gaston Bachelard’s thoughts on intimate spaces. He sums things up as neatly as the structure itself: A house that has been experienced is not an inert box. Inhabited space transcends geometrical space.
Here is my space, in abstract, in response to a warm spring day.