Sunday, July 22, 2012

As above so not below

Almond branch from Susan Miura blogspot

If blogs are spaces for fantasies and if fantasies turn into realities when you articulate them properly….. then it’s high time I stake a claim in my alternative dwelling place where the apolllonian and dionysian sit comfortably side by side.

My fantasy house is a low-slung horizontal structure sitting under lush trees on a mediterranean island. The rooms are airy and light with no glass in the windows, only shutters that close against inclement weather (needless to say, there are no prowling would-be intruders). The floors are hand-hewn marble, not hard machine-planed surfaces. There are no sharp angles; the walls softly slide into and out of the corners where they meet. The furniture is minimal: huge floppy neutral coloured cushions on Moroccan type low seats that form part of the walls. No sharp angles here either. Some of the cushions are scattered on the floor. There are no interior doors. Futon beds hug the marble floors and there are screen walls for privacy. The only colour comes from huge ceramic vases filled with wild flowers. The mood is alpha, a sea breeze cools the air.

What else? Here one walks barefoot in soft cotton garments, aware of the eternal moment. A chunky wooden table with soft edges in the kitchen, elegant utensils, simple bowls. No clutter.

And then there is a cellar. Baroque and rich filled with satins, silk and velvets in vertiginous colours: gold, alizarin, scarlet, magenta, ruby, cobalt, indigo, eau de nil, sienna, bronze, sap green, deep violet, saffron. Light from a stained glass window saturates decorated and encrusted silver objects of beauty, inlaid treasures, thin oriental carpets, paintings, icons, and mandalas. The senses are glutted and assailed, soothed and challenged. There is a narrow silver table covered in perfume bottles with haunting fragrances. Here one wears heavy jewellery, gemstone sandals and layers of fine fabrics. You sink into a soft high bed like an odalisque chained in luxury, sip chartreuse from a heavy glass and dream of Bataille.

How much time would I spend above and how much below? Who knows? But I love the idea of tranqulity and excess separated by nothing more than a staircase.