Reimagining Space

When I was younger, I sketched all the time. Most of my sketches were of houses made of glass. All domed, the insides of which were concrete, steel, black leather and heavy velvet draping shaded gold and deep reds. Most certainly a psychologist with nothing better to do would make something of the fact that all of the houses were fabricated of glass.

As I grew older, both the color scheme and the designs changed. Although the houses remain spacious, they have become cluttered with book shelves, Persian rugs, candles, deep sofas no longer leather covered but heavily cushioned. Wood stoves have been added, and enormous mantle pieces placed over the newly acquired fireplaces. Within each space is the lusciousness of comfort rather than the sterility of emptiness; large single-person sofas have found their way into the kitchen, as they have into the bath area (not to be confused with the toilette area) that always situates the bather beneath a candle-lit chandelier and overlooking private green space.

For quite some time, I thought to become an architect; often still, the thought still races through my mind and is then immediately followed by 'but what about flying a helicopter?'. My architecture inspired dreams changed when my father - who was at different points in his career VP of two of Ottawa's largest construction companies - told me that women architects were quite poorly treated and immensely disrespected. Construction was a man's world and women who were involved were involved against their own welcome.

I was young and he was trying to look out for me.

If we were to have that conversation today, he would instead counsel me to ensure that I: (1) excel in an environment where the odds are against me; and, (2) not wear shirts that are so tight. If we were having that conversation today, I would have told him that precisely because my sex wasn't welcome, I would pursue the option.

But we're not having that conversation today.

Instead, I find myself inclined to behaving a certain way when I walk into any space...I re-imagine it. I tear down walls and erect half ones. I repaint the ceiling, widen the windows, move the bookshelf to another room and rearrange the books so that dispersed among them are photos of friends and family. I add a single reading chair to the kitchen, change the counter top, punch a hole above the sink to add a new window.

I cover the hardwood with the right carpet and remove the television from the living room so that people, rather than not, are the centre of attention.

I add a mud room filled with plants and a sunroof in the kitchen.

I remove closet doors and replace them with heavy draping to soften the contour of the room.

I insert a claw-footed tub and fill the bath area with pillows and candles, oils and mirrors.

I also change the curtains. Often, in fact, I change the curtains, because curtains are the Crack of any home and anyone who doesn't know that doesn't have a clue about space.

While this is happening in my head, it's sunny outside and there's music playing, usually an old and scratched Josephine Baker vinyl. The space within which I quietly reimagine, I find precious comfort, peace and calm as they are the drivers for the end result.

And so...it was with the greatest pleasure that I accepted my girlfriend's offer to do just that, in real time, to her new home.

Another project, another chapter; more creation and art.
I am excited.