What happens is I go to the room and I can see it... It’s visual. What can be said about the compositions, colours, brown, and green, on white, on off-white... within sight? Not much, as there is no order or reasoning. The way things come together in my life, objects and collections they build on each other on whims and gifts, over the years. The room is so functional, and our time in this house so transitory (the way things seem to go, single and living in shared houses, after graduating, echos of the annual student shuffle). So the room gets little aesthetic attention. Function brings together a bunch of stuff, and now I look at it, almost like working around an installation or sculpture. This stuff, what’s important, what do I want...
Solitude, being alone and being in the clear. I guess the importance of hygiene makes this room one that we keep clean. And this white clean, blank canvas, this is where I can be alone and see myself. In mirrors, but also... The interrogation from life halts, people stop talking to you, people leave that space where you can piss and shit alone... Brain and body wiped clean, often naked, existent and with no cultural expectations, no one knows what you do, not exactly, you might do nothing, stay quiet, press pause...
Some part of me, (some part of you,) might make use of that second glance, that moment where we are distracted not by things or noises, but by quietness and space, clarity... and a thought, a moment of waking dream, a weird idea, a fear, a terrible tale, an hour of conversation played out...
I
Piss, go to the sink, turn the hot tap and squirt a splash of the remaining soap, rub my hands in lather, rinse in hot water, rinse in cold water, look at the paper cut across the finger print of my right ring finger, looking at it for some time, thinking something about a writing project I have in mind to complete over the next six months or so... and I leave the bathroom.
End.
