an introduction | reflections on space
I slowly emerge from strange dreams of fast-growing trees and frozen porches and pathways to a red glow of light, a sunrise scattering static shadows across the room, caressing the leaves of my bedside pothos. But outside the soft blinds, the sky remains dark. A glance at the weather app would show me the sun is set to crest the horizon almost two hours from now, too far away for even the softening of blacks to grays. No, this sunrise I can reach with my outstretched hand, pause with a gentle tap. And, no matter the weather, it wakes me to the sound of soft rain.
It’s been a long sojourn in an apartment I found on Craigslist.
There’s a nail that sticks out of a floorboard just to the left of the front door. It snags socks and impales soft toes with regularity. It sits in a crack, sliding, wiggling, waiting, rarely sticking straight up, slipping in and out of view, weeks will go by between attacks. Quick hits, never a long siege. It took me two long years to hammer it into the floor and I still detour around that edge of the door.
My morning routine after a slow rise is a cup of water, not for me, but for the residents of my apartment rooted in soil, soaking up the northern sun, and, in early mornings and late nights the new sun that is “the best reviewed on the internet.” [1]
Many evenings, which start earlier than they used to, I’m curled up with a book. A heavy weight across my toes keeping me still, resting. It is some kind of escape this sitting and being somewhere else, and paging back through old favorites is its own kind of embrace. [2]
One of my favorite things to hold winding down after a long day is a pillow I made in a workshop with artist Joshua Longo.[3] In its inception it tickled the floor, creeping up walls and down halls. But now it is the perfect dimensions for a lap, and when your arms slide through its an almost hug. One might call it a no-maintenance apartment pet. I call him Melvin.
It’s another day with the sentinels stationed on either side of my desk. A carefully perched desktop and intentionally angled laptop. They rest in perfect alignment for a zoom backdrop –bed cropped from the frame, a glimpse of tiny-z[4]. I regularly dust that background surface, but on my dresser, out of frame, even the softest breeze kicks up eddies that sparkle in the dappled sun. I am sometimes more aware of the outsider’s view than my own.
There has been so much speculation, writing, analysis, on the months since January of 2020. Our strolls down the street, out from the door and onto chilly sidewalks, brought us nervous eyes peeking over masks, unruly hair just visible through lightly lit windows. As the companions of our daily life became first six feet away, and then sometimes further, our spaces had to respond. To do more for us. And those bits and pieces that reside in our spaces with us, the objects we live with, became the companions of our everyday life.
Over the next few months, as we once again emerge to go to gyms that are no longer the living room floor, go to offices that are more than a quick step from our bedsides, it’s a time for strange reflection on the objects that have cohabitated with us. The actors in our spaces that, perhaps, sometimes seemed like more.
[1] “Hanging Indoor Plant Grow Light • Aspect™ Growlight • Soltech Solutions.” Soltech Solutions, 7 Sept. 2021, https://www.soltechsolutions.com/product/aspect-plant-light/?attribute_pa_color=black&attribute_pa_size=small-20w&fo_c=4405&fo_k=e24f7356ad3472502c249c03c6eab962&fo_s=gplaus.
[2] Wendell, Sarah. “Perspective | for a Lot of Book Lovers, Rereading Old Favorites Is the Only Reading They Can Manage at the Moment.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 2 May 2020, https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/for-a-lot-of-book-lovers-rereading-old-favorites-is-the-only-reading-they-can-manage-at-the-moment/2020/05/01/19c3cd4c-8bbe-11ea-ac8a-fe9b8088e101_story.html%20%20%C2%A0.
[3] Clifford, Brandon. Tursack, Hans. Leung, Jennifer. Longo, Joshua. “Core 1 Studio.” MIT SA+P. 2018.
[4] Karsan, Zain. “In House Studio".” MIT SA+P. 2021.
In image: Kaur, Rupi. Milk and Honey. Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2018.
