Was thinking about people’s spaces. The physical spaces that surround us, our environment.
Recently, too early to be happy about for a Sunday morning, I sat in front of a random suburban stretch of shops, waiting endlessly for transit to whisk me away to work (more like ramblingly clunk its way toward my destination). It’s not a place I ever envisioned myself being. Ever. Much less on a sunny Sunday morning. And yet that’s where I was.
Most of the time, I think about myself existing in a space like this:
…just kidding! Or at least, like this:
…but the reality is much different. And maybe it always will be. I mean, I was thinking about it especially after coming across this image of photographer William Eggleston in his home (from here):
It’s not really what you’d expect of a famous photographer. I mean, is that his room? Did he put that wallpaper in, or did he just never bother to replace it with something else?
It made me think of how stunned I was when I watched the documentary about street photographer Bill Cunningham (the documentary is called Bill Cunningham New York). Despite a decades-long career photographing fashion in the streets, he’s been in the same apartment for just as long, it seems. It’s about as spartan as you can get; besides a bed, most of the space is taken up by file cabinets of negatives.
Of course, Bill Cunningham’s passion is observing the world, so his space truly is just a place to sleep and store things.
I don’t know, I was just thinking about the space I actually exist in, my surroundings, my environment, my activities, my time. I neither live in a beautiful space nor spend the majority of my time out in the world creating beautiful things. I wish I did or had one or the other.
Sometimes life seems awfully dull. That’s a terrible thing to say.