Perfect Spaces

We all crave the perfect space in which to work and create. Graham has a thing about the long view. He claims to need to view the distance to feel good about the space he works in. I think Alain de Botton probably agrees with him. Our little Fremantle cottage doesn’t really have the long view. Watching a TV show last night a prisoner in orange coveralls looks out of his barred window at a magnificent Seattle view, water and mountains, and Graham says ‘good view.’ A good view is important to him. Is it because he grew up in Hong Kong, where he viewed a bustling life below from a high-rise? My childhood was decidedly suburban. No view. Hydrangea from one window. Hibiscus from another. Sounds of lawn mowing.

From our study window we can see the oval and often the noise that accompanies it is that of children engaged in sport. There are hollers and screeches from adolescents fighting for the ball. Sometimes the high school students, who are skiving off early, fan across it on their way to the town and the train and bus station. They grab one another by the bag strap and throw each other to the ground. There is a need to be physical and rough. A boy will run down the slope, keep running and then jump onto the back of another. The force will send the jumped-on to the ground. Greened knees. Socks are loose and grey bundled about their ankles. The public high school on the hill has amazing views of the port. From classrooms ships can be seen as they shuffle along the quay, pushed in and out, by the snub-nosed tugs. The red cranes, large giant Meccano, move the containers like they are blocks of Lego. The Catholic boys school is on the flat, their windows facing courtyards and the street.
Here, in the Museo de Arte Abstracto Espanol in Cuenca, this space has it all; wonderful book shelves and out the window a cliff edged location allows for amazing views.

2 Replies to “Perfect Spaces”

  1. I think the angle makes the window painting read. Sitting low under a higher window and seeing the sky. The classic cell. If a deciduous tree limb cuts and graces the pain-ting, then there is a story. A picture window, high, telling of the day and night, the weather and the seasons. Look up is the artist’s escape.

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