a deeper understanding of home

by dominic stevens

here

it is important to note that dwelling is a process.  a house is not a product, it is an ongoing piece of careful, creative work.

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we react to colour, as we do to smell, at a subconscious level.  colours we associate with particular rooms, pieces, objects from our past allow deep emotions to surface.

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our house should care for us.  it should forgive us our dislikes, and celebrate with us the things that we love.

reading

via

what is the universe like?

things are either devolving toward, or evolving from, nothingness.  as dusk approaches in the hinterlands, a traveler ponders shelter for the night.  he notices tall rushes growing everywhere, so he bundles an armful together as they stand in the field, and knots them at the top.  presto, a living grass hut.  the next morning, before embarking on another day's journey, he unknots the rushes and presto, the hut de-constructs, disappears, and becomes a virtually indistinguishable part of the larger field of rushes once more.   the original wilderness seems to be restored, but minute traces of the shelter remain.  a slight twist or bend in a reed here and there.  there is also the memory of the hut in the mind of the traveler- and in the mind of the reader reading this description.  wabi-sabi, in it's purest, most idealized form, is precisely about these delicate traces, this faint evidence, at the borders of nothingness.

while the universe destructs it also constructs.  new things emerge out of nothingness.  but we can't really determine by cursory observation whether something is in the evolving or devolving mode.  if we didn't know differently we might mistake the newborn baby boy- small, wrinkled, bent, a little grotesque looking- for the very old man on the brink of death.  in representations of wabi-sabi, arbitrarily perhaps, the devolving dynamic generally tends to manifest itself in things a little darker, more obscure, and quiet. things evolving tend to be a little lighter and brighter, a bit clearer, and slightly more eye-arresting.  and nothingess itself- instead of being empty space, as in the west- is alive with possibility.  in metaphysical terms, wabi-sabi suggests that the universe is in constant motion toward or away from potential.
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wabi-sabi-for artists, designers, poets & philosophy
by leonard koren

i have six small windows in two rows of three in my house.  on one side the view is out to the woods.  on the other it's out to an attached carport.  not real pretty on this side.  so i got out a big pile of old thin cotton fabric i bought for $5 when i was at a fleamarket with alice last year.  i was doing some fabric dyeing at the time and threw the fabric into a pot, not remembering now which pot or what plant material it was made from.  it came out pretty much like a darker tea-stain which i am ok with.

then i decided to hand-stitch some larger buttonhole/eyelet type openings at the top with my favorite embroidery thread which is also hand-dyed and has variation in color which i love.  when all the curtain panels are done i will probably string it with some lengths of rawhide and hang with old square nails.

is this a funny little project?  most people will never notice the hand-stitched holes i've already spent a couple hours stitching.  and the end result is pretty humble.

but this is just the type of creative project and result that i love.  so as i work i think to myself, "only me."  which, when i think further on it i realize is not true.

the other thing i think about is how the impulse that makes me do this project is the same impulse that fueled my painting and other "fine art" projects in the past.  i spent time several years ago dyeing an old white sheet, ripping it into thin strips, and then hand-sewing the strips back together.

i also took an old white baby dressing gown, tore that into strips and stitched it back together.

this stuff seems both pointless and maybe even self-absorbed but at the same time of utmost importance.  essential.  at least for me.  and the reason why i do this feels like one of the most honest and fundamental things about me.    

Alain de Botton - On Pessimism from The School of Life on Vimeo.

a blog reader and wise internet friend, sara, sent me a link to this video.  thought i pass it along.
much love,
me

home

I purged yesterday. I took almost everything off the walls, patched, painted. I cleaned and anything I don't love went in the barn. I'm really not a hoarder/collector. I tend to think of my house like I do my paintings. My ideas/ideals are abstract and pared down. I like worn things with history but with each thing having some space to breath. Each thing has impact on it's own or at least in small groups. And it's just as hard to get where I want to go with my living space as it is to put down on paper or canvas what I have in my head. I'm thinking a lot about curtains/drapes right now as a starting point for my rooms. I want something that falls to the floor but not something overpowering. I don't want them to be too dark and I want them to be a source of color and pattern in the room. Because everything I own is plain, really. I want gorgeous fabric, maybe vintage. Any ideas? I'm not opposed to buying them made or buying the fabric and making them myself.