I loved your essay. It is a lost art to sit and simply look—and feel. I loved the photos you added, and I’ll have to explore the books you referenced. It’s always fun to share what we love reading.
The light pooling on the wood floor is phenomenal. The photo of the living room, with the sunlight falling across the floor, is one I would love to paint. There is something so peaceful about the simplicity of those lines. We want to stand outside the frame and not disturb it. The room has its own presence. Complete. We are simply its witness.
If only I could see my thoughts this way. Mine are more like a cluttered closet, with things spilling out and falling over—me trying to shove everything back inside and shut the door, though it never quite closes.
Even when I fall asleep, I can feel how busy, busy, busy my mind is. And then I dream.
Maybe that is why it is such a gift, when we are awake, to pause in the doorway of a room and notice something simple and beautiful—and let it be enough for that moment. Our thoughts grow still.
What an honor it would be if you ever wanted to choose that photo as a motif for one of your beautiful paintings, Elizabeth (and one I would buy)! I love your comment all around, and trust me that I can relate to your image of the cluttered closet. Attempting to organize some of my mental clutter is one of the main reasons why I am drawn to writing.
"And then I dream." Yes, there are our dreams, our memories, and the often subtle ways in which our imagination can reorganize the way we see and think. Just today, I visited the Carl Jung house in Switzerland, and in the book I bought there at the end of the tour, I found this passage Jung wrote about our imagination and playfulness (I would add memory work too):
"[E]very creative individual whatsoever owes all that is greatest in his life to fantasy. The dynamic principle of fantasy is play, a characteristic also of the child, and as such it appears inconsistent with the principle of serious work. But without this playing with fantasy no creative work has ever yet come to birth."
So much to ponder and revisit, Brigitte! Describing your childhood rooms made me nostalgic for my own, and I think there really is something to the importance of our environment -- visually, asethetically, psychologically -- as a child, because of how sensitive we are and how vivid our imaginations are, especially at that age. The philosophy Gaston Bachelard said (I'm doing my best to paraphrase), that the house is a "cradle" for our budding imaginations, and a good secure house "shelters the dreamer," allowing them to dream.
Brigitte, two things stay with me after reading this.
Rooms become memorable only when the eye lands on something. The mould on the chair… the light on the floor. That is the trigger, and everything around it is the detail that lets the reader emerge into your memories while you guide the tour.
And when you sit with yourself at different stages of your life, it is not just a metaphor but a dive into physics. It is almost science fiction, except it is scientific truth. You have written your way into territory most writers never find.
It was meaningful, and fun, to think about memory and time, and how intimately they are bound up with our imagination and perception. Thank you so much, Shams!
This essay is so good and just really highlights what you do so well. You take an idea that’s actually complex, feels almost insignificant when just a word “rooms” and then suddenly I’m thinking deeply about the spaces I inhabit and how each one has this “atmosphere” and tone. So beautifully written with an idea I am still turning over in the room inside my head.
I went back and combed through this exquisite essay several times to find the ¹ you referred to as "too much selfing" and couldn't find it. I'm so curious to find out what you consider to be too much selfing!
Well, I am glad…I may have been overly cautious about putting so many versions of myself into one paragraph ;) Thank you so much for taking the time to read this piece, Susanna!
Brigitte, this essay came together is beautifully! It might be my favorite ever of yours, which is quite high praise. As I’ve mentioned to you, trying to imagine a fourth dimension, or the ability to escape the linear nature of time is something that always breaks my brain. But the way you beautifully describe days and time as rooms we enter is the closest I have ever felt to being able to hold it in my mind. This section in particular really impacted me:
“Imagine a day you lived in the past as a room you could enter and look at from different perspectives. Imagine even just a fraction of how even just one day intersected with other people’s lives, in all their complexities, nuances and beauty.”
What a lovely thought and reminder of how interconnected we all are, across space and time. Thank you for sharing this brilliant essay with us ◡̈
Isn’t it beautiful how we are all exchanging ideas with each other that we then carry forward with us? That alone makes writing, and reading other people’s words, so rewarding. Thank you for your thoughtful feedback on this piece, Rachel! And I love that it’s your new favorite :)
With this essay you knocked on the door of my mental space and I let you in and you were a good guest, imbuing my inner room with new colors and angles of light. You are an artist really Brigitte, the imagery included here an important part of the room you staged, the mental furniture that made me feel at home in your ideas. You are hitting a stride here.
Christopher Nolan-esque!? Not sure what to make of this, but I will take and run with it! 😜
Thank you for taking the time to read this early in the morning, Henny.
I did NOT realize I was walking into a Christopher Nolan-esque piece when I opened this Brigitte…but I am here for it!
Truly, this was great.
I loved your essay. It is a lost art to sit and simply look—and feel. I loved the photos you added, and I’ll have to explore the books you referenced. It’s always fun to share what we love reading.
The light pooling on the wood floor is phenomenal. The photo of the living room, with the sunlight falling across the floor, is one I would love to paint. There is something so peaceful about the simplicity of those lines. We want to stand outside the frame and not disturb it. The room has its own presence. Complete. We are simply its witness.
If only I could see my thoughts this way. Mine are more like a cluttered closet, with things spilling out and falling over—me trying to shove everything back inside and shut the door, though it never quite closes.
Even when I fall asleep, I can feel how busy, busy, busy my mind is. And then I dream.
Maybe that is why it is such a gift, when we are awake, to pause in the doorway of a room and notice something simple and beautiful—and let it be enough for that moment. Our thoughts grow still.
Hope that wasn't too rambling.
What an honor it would be if you ever wanted to choose that photo as a motif for one of your beautiful paintings, Elizabeth (and one I would buy)! I love your comment all around, and trust me that I can relate to your image of the cluttered closet. Attempting to organize some of my mental clutter is one of the main reasons why I am drawn to writing.
"And then I dream." Yes, there are our dreams, our memories, and the often subtle ways in which our imagination can reorganize the way we see and think. Just today, I visited the Carl Jung house in Switzerland, and in the book I bought there at the end of the tour, I found this passage Jung wrote about our imagination and playfulness (I would add memory work too):
"[E]very creative individual whatsoever owes all that is greatest in his life to fantasy. The dynamic principle of fantasy is play, a characteristic also of the child, and as such it appears inconsistent with the principle of serious work. But without this playing with fantasy no creative work has ever yet come to birth."
So much to ponder and revisit, Brigitte! Describing your childhood rooms made me nostalgic for my own, and I think there really is something to the importance of our environment -- visually, asethetically, psychologically -- as a child, because of how sensitive we are and how vivid our imaginations are, especially at that age. The philosophy Gaston Bachelard said (I'm doing my best to paraphrase), that the house is a "cradle" for our budding imaginations, and a good secure house "shelters the dreamer," allowing them to dream.
I love this image of "sheltering the dreamer." Thank you so much, Brenna 🩶
Brigitte, two things stay with me after reading this.
Rooms become memorable only when the eye lands on something. The mould on the chair… the light on the floor. That is the trigger, and everything around it is the detail that lets the reader emerge into your memories while you guide the tour.
And when you sit with yourself at different stages of your life, it is not just a metaphor but a dive into physics. It is almost science fiction, except it is scientific truth. You have written your way into territory most writers never find.
It was meaningful, and fun, to think about memory and time, and how intimately they are bound up with our imagination and perception. Thank you so much, Shams!
This essay is so good and just really highlights what you do so well. You take an idea that’s actually complex, feels almost insignificant when just a word “rooms” and then suddenly I’m thinking deeply about the spaces I inhabit and how each one has this “atmosphere” and tone. So beautifully written with an idea I am still turning over in the room inside my head.
This makes me happy, and I thank you for all your encouragement and feedback on this essay, Michelle!
I went back and combed through this exquisite essay several times to find the ¹ you referred to as "too much selfing" and couldn't find it. I'm so curious to find out what you consider to be too much selfing!
Well, I am glad…I may have been overly cautious about putting so many versions of myself into one paragraph ;) Thank you so much for taking the time to read this piece, Susanna!
Brigitte, this essay came together is beautifully! It might be my favorite ever of yours, which is quite high praise. As I’ve mentioned to you, trying to imagine a fourth dimension, or the ability to escape the linear nature of time is something that always breaks my brain. But the way you beautifully describe days and time as rooms we enter is the closest I have ever felt to being able to hold it in my mind. This section in particular really impacted me:
“Imagine a day you lived in the past as a room you could enter and look at from different perspectives. Imagine even just a fraction of how even just one day intersected with other people’s lives, in all their complexities, nuances and beauty.”
What a lovely thought and reminder of how interconnected we all are, across space and time. Thank you for sharing this brilliant essay with us ◡̈
Isn’t it beautiful how we are all exchanging ideas with each other that we then carry forward with us? That alone makes writing, and reading other people’s words, so rewarding. Thank you for your thoughtful feedback on this piece, Rachel! And I love that it’s your new favorite :)
With this essay you knocked on the door of my mental space and I let you in and you were a good guest, imbuing my inner room with new colors and angles of light. You are an artist really Brigitte, the imagery included here an important part of the room you staged, the mental furniture that made me feel at home in your ideas. You are hitting a stride here.
Knock knock — thank you so much for welcoming some of my consciousness inside yours, Rick.
: )
Vis rooms, you really need to check out the substack One Room, One Hour. I think you will love: https://oneroomonehour.substack.com/
I surely will. Thank you, Delia!
I think i understand what Henny means...it feels as if walking from a dream to a dream....And the paining of Sofia Bonati just fits perfectly.
Thank you Lilia 🩶