Living Space

I helped a friend move yesterday. Which isn’t strictly true – I actually provided transport for a docile feline plus owner and a few assorted fragiles deemed to be too delicate for transportation on top of a bumpy truck.
The space into which the objects were moved was a demonstration of the art of the possible. Quite a small collection of boxes, bags and the paraphernalia with which we all surround ourselves, sat, somewhat forlornly, in a pile in the centre of the main living room which was beamed, with ornate faux antique light fitments. The empty space seemed constricted emotionally, void of content and breath, soulless, if you will, an empty husk from which a previous incarnation had departed. The new owners will over the next weeks fill it with light, joy and space, infusing the walls with their personalities.
I’m conscious of the fact that I myself am occupying the smallest space I have lived in for the last four years. The predominant colours are a dirty mushroom and brown, doubtless chosen to satisfy what the owner believes to be strong, masculine, efficiently unfettered taste. It’s rather like living in a luxurious hotel suite. The hard furniture is black, faux IKEA (if such isn’t a tautology) and functional – my grey display shelving fits in well. I no longer have a cat, but a patchwork cat blanket sits on the floor in renegade challenge to the austerity of the rest, which I have to confess, I quite like. It’s strange. I always thought of myself as minimalist and it really doesn’t get much more minimal, but i think I have to revise definitions a little. White leather furniture with three picture windows overlooking the ocean, bold Rosenborg landscapes on the walls plus a spotless terrace with a single potted palm is more in line with the clean perpendicularity of my mind, so my external view of a wall pockmarked with air conditioning units somehow doesn’t quite cut it, and makes me feel a bit gnomish.

Should I develop antisocial dispositions and a taste for reruns of American series, I hope my friends will have mercy on me and invite me out to get some vitamin D and practise my English.

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5 thoughts on “Living Space

  1. “White leather furniture with three picture windows overlooking the ocean, bold Rosenborg landscapes on the walls plus a spotless terrace with a single potted palm…”

    Hmmm, what about brightly coloured miscelaneous sofas, 5 windows with blue sliding doors opening on a deck overlooking the river, pots filled with tomatoes and sunflowers?

    And for the Rosenborg feeling, dry waist high grasses covered with frost, early in the winter morning, just when sun rises pink, maybe with a hunting dog joyfuly circling and sniffing for a rabbit or a pheasant?
    HG

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  2. A hunting dog.. there's a thought. Something hopelessly devoted with large eyes that won't need a leash and comes when called.
    The only thing required in addition would be a gun for that all-over masculine feeling.

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  3. About braque bleu d'Auvergne let me quote a Finnish breeding website:
    “… Thanks to this talent, the dog is asking the guide from time to time what to do further away, but these questions should remain discreet…
    During work the head is posing extension of the ridge and the nose is directed easily downwards…

    Braque d'Auvergne is pointing in the standing position, reliably, but not in the torpor. The method depends from the kind of the game, the distance, the type of the ground and the area, and ranges from pointing on paws rippled out with the head raised high to pointing on bent legs with head towards the ground….

    The breed is being extolled for its versatility, effectiveness and the adaptability, is working equally well on flatfield and in the mountain area, in the forest and water. …
    It is a very intelligent dog, tied to his guide. Easy to lead, is learning fast, best on the principle of positive strengthening of its natural tendencies. However it is the very sensitive dog which endures no indications of the brutality in the training…”

    The perfect dog for you?

    HG

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  4. That “docile feline” was pretending. His Royal Highness is back to his usual cranky, biting self. The delicates (mostly) survived…I needed a new teapot. We are now rattling around in a near empty space. 'Cavernous and echoey' come to mind at this juncture. Your orphan sofa bed would be most welcome.

    Let me know if you succumb to the lure of unconditional companionship…HandyMan is seriously thinking of doing the same. He's thinking small and cuddly, though. Surprising, eh?

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