Creative Literature: Essays of the Space nr. 1

I live in the 9th floor of a communist building, somewhere into the finite eternity. My door’s apartment has a label with the number 40.I share the flat with six more people but I have my own space. My room is square, around 12m2 in size and has forth walls. On the whole, the house is exterior and bright. My room has short furnishing: a closet without doors, a chest of drawers, an old fashion wood chair and two kinds of suitcases: a big one for large and long distances, located just behind the door, covered with a red scarf and a lot of dust. The second baggage is a backpack of 50 liters of capacity, the perfect for non-formal travels. Painting is white and ground is carpeted in color grey. Two mirrors cut in semicircle simulate higher amplitude.

The vision from the gateway is directly connected in straight line to the big window, which embraces forty % of the dimension of the wall. Curtains are white and black and the left corner is crossed in vertical for an old pipe. Someone used the parts that connect the pipes to the wall to hang some clothes. Under the jackets, are located two bottles of water of 2,5 litres. Next to them, in the left, there’re several books from a Contemporary art Museum from somewhere, in a far Island of the Mediterráneo….The rest of the wall contains scratched with blue-tack some postcards of Brake, John Cage, Max Ernst, Eon Schielle, Julio Romero de Torres and the French symbolist painter Odilon Redon. Just down the Redon’s there’s a double plug, adorned with the door’s shoedorn settled in vertical.

The wall where is the main entrance is almost covered by the wardrobe and the furniture with drawers. The Switch is almost unseen, covered by clothes. There are a small gap between the chest and the wall. This is a strange space, nor big or small enough for settling something, the so-called the “corner of the Shame”, where are located objects or things lost or forgotten. In a deep looking, one would find a novel written by Murakamy, an Antology of  Anna Politovskaya, a mini-dictionary Spanish-English and some magazines about Turkish and Romanian conquers.  All these realities cohabite in the smallest corner of the room. Reality is unfair. The chest is old and the drawers are broken because of the weight of the things that were kept inside. Now is almost empty and its appearance conveys indulgence and decay.

The bed is big and low height. Is made by wood and doesn’t have sheets. But the coach is covered by a white blanket and two pillows. Both have covers designed with flowers from the 80’s style. In general the room transmits peace and relax. Most of the space is used for basic needs and there’re not a lot of objects. The most heavy things are hidden somewhere and a soft smell to carrot cake leaks under the door. Life is tasty and Space is sacred.

Photos: Christian Vogel


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