Of Wash Stands and Entry-ways

We speak a lot about change.  I am ever amazed at the lengths we go to establish stability, routine and predictability in our lives, while truly it is so very clear that nothing is permanent nor in our control. That in and of itself should be a freeing epiphany, and yet the struggle between order and chaos, between kind sensibilities and utter madness continues…

Perhaps it was selfish after all is said and done, but I brought in a girl to my home after a fairly good amount of time to know her.  Still, what stead can you put in this knowing, as it changes and we are always in a constant state of flux…  I’m sorry, but a young person cannot know their mind, nor can they control the immense and overwhelming wave of angst and passion that some random trigger will unleash…  for the ego will always step forth into the spotlight when given center stage…

How much can I give over to this new roommate…  this question I ask myself several times a day.  I recognize myself and my tendencies in her easily, and so it is with understanding and some degree of knowing that I offer up half of my house to her.  I took no money in this offering.  I love that part.  When you reduce people down to money, over and over again, you take away the best part of what makes us beautiful and human, one hundred percent.

And that is how I rectified the outlandish, garish, and completely unlikable piece of art that has once again entered my home and so the obsession continues…  arrrggghhhh….

Think it’s safe to say that most people grow up with conditioned characters based on whatever culture and attitudes prevail in the home.  When my father was transferred to the bigger city of Tyler and he began to build a house for us to live in there. I remember a lot of design talk going between him and my mother.  It would seem that the entry-way, or more accurately “door-way” of the front of the house carried great importance of some sort.

They spent a great deal of time deciding on this garrish gold-flocked damask design wallpaper for the “foyer” which was just a small hallway to the center of the house.  But mom acquired an antique wash-stand, to which they added a white marble top, and it was a nice piece for sure.  As you opened the front door, you would then see the little wooden piece of furniture from another time, now dutifully holding up its heavy chunk of marble, so the people could feel special, the purpose of all this still escapes me.  And yet this is the foundation of cultural design that I was first exposed to…  the imprint…

So back to present day, and last year before Christmas, when  Emily went back to the city, she left a “canvas” she made and painted, and she calls it “the Hand” I believe I heard her say, as I have now moved it twice to somehow silently voice my total opposition to the piece.  Emily refuses to paint on square canvas.  It must be some irregular shape.  And this one piece that makes me so crazy rises up from the small oddly shaped thing into a point or a tiny mountain or something she calls the hand.  It is painted bright sky blue with yellow stripes around the peak with white on top I believe.  I hate it.  But I’ve given up.  It’s back at the front door, you can’t help but see it just as soon as you walk into the house, it’s right there.

So today my lesson is flexibility.  It is more core understanding within myself.  Today is a time for more reflection on these things, the importance of accepting something possibly unpleasant, and learning to easily detach from anything personal about it.  Emily likes to throw rags and fabric over anything on shelves, or anything stored or pushed aside temporarily.  I secretly call it the “rag of shame.”  It’s as if something wasn’t finished properly or put away so it got covered up at least.  So we are thinking if we still can’t overcome the adverse feelings we get when confronted over and over at the front door with a piece of art that just won’t leave my reality, then so be it… I will bear down and deal with it, and I will try to laugh.  Whenever I feel especially unable to cope with this one piece of offending art, perhaps a rag thrown over will suffice…

But first I will have to meditate and find my center.  At 7 am, I am all kinds of contrary and would rather throw that thing to the moon, and crank up some music and let the front door remain open and windows open before the heat returns…

But instead I will bathe and pray since morning chores are done for now…  the ego is like a seething cauldron we keep covered up, properly dressed and groomed.  It screams for order and marble-topped wash-stands in a world of Salvador Dali-surreal painted canvases of primary colors and no possible connection to anything traditional in design at all…  haha

Good Morning Good People!

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