orange flowers
Epic post about European summer forthcoming, but for now, just for sake of writing, something a little more directed.
My journal writing of late, in whatever form--online, digital, or on paper--has become woefully infrequent, and whenever I do end up writing I feel like I need to fill in the gaps, which is often tedious for me. I'm realizing that this is laziness, and I feel the self-awareness that usually comes with journal writing slipping away.
I made a good number of new year's resolutions in January, but productivity effectively stopped for about three months after the breakup, and then I was off to Europe. I'd hoped that a return to an environment where I felt somewhat more comfortable culturally would reawaken some of my expressive sensibilities, but when the trip was geared almost exclusively around ultimate and ultimate players, it was difficult finding even the energy to just keep up, much less divulge in introspection.
Something to work on. But to start, I wanted to write about Erik's house in Utrecht.
We arrived late at night, and the entrance was nestled behind leafy hedges, at the end of a small driveway. I remember the steep staircases and the angled ceilings of the third floor bedrooms; the brightly painted walls, the knick-knacks and homemade artwork that filled the corners, the marvelous array of books that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. There was a well-tuned piano, and a garden under construction, and old bicycles in the garage, and doors in unexpected places.
But the thing that comes most readily to mind were the flowers. Having been brought up in a relatively utilitarian household that rarely had any kind of decoration, it was surprising to me to see fresh flowers. Impractical, expensive, and temporary--a damning trinity of faults for a family that prioritized thrift. But here, throughout this twisty-turny house nestled in greenery (no concrete blocks!) were simple daisies and wildflowers in small jars of glass and ceramic. It's not that flowers in houses surprise me so much in general, but it was clear from the way these flowers were configured that they were regularly replaced. I remember the shape of one of the jars--in the downstairs bathroom, I think--had a neck only wide enough for one flower stem. I mean, many flower vases are meant for flowers, but this one just seemed to me like it was *really* meant for flowers. Well, one flower. And because of that it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.
What struck me so much about this was that it showed genuine attention and care in in beautifying one's surroundings, and an appreciation for the sense of home that doing so creates. This is something I've never had or done in almost any place I've lived in. Knowledge that my occupancy of whatever dorm room or apartment would be only temporary discouraged me from investing too much in what I've been trained to view as materialistic frivolity. Not that such an approach didn't take its toll. Those who know me well know also that my overwhelming desire for a sense of home has probably been the primary motivator of most of the major changes in my life. To see that sense of home achieved with such complete success there in Utrecht made me again question my life's trajectory.
It inspired me to renew my earlier resolutions to focus on beauty and grace. On the positive. Relatively simple resolutions but it's easy to forget that these kinds of things require conscious effort--in other words, it's easy to be lazy. At the beginning of the summer, when I first arrived in Paris and was inundated in ennui, Doc suggested that I set some goals. So I decided to find beauty--specifically, beautiful lines. The entire aesthetic of Europe is completely different from that of Beijing, or of anywhere I've been in the US, and it was refreshing to see the care for elegance and grace in such everyday buildings as post offices and libraries. But, even after making the tourist rounds of cultural megaliths such as Vienna, Budapest, and Prague, it was in this modest home in Utrecht where I most fully sensed the kind of grace I had been looking for.
I will fill my own house with flowers. I will surround myself with colors of my choosing, and create an aesthetic for myself in this grey city of 20 million. And perhaps, perhaps, I can feel at home.
My journal writing of late, in whatever form--online, digital, or on paper--has become woefully infrequent, and whenever I do end up writing I feel like I need to fill in the gaps, which is often tedious for me. I'm realizing that this is laziness, and I feel the self-awareness that usually comes with journal writing slipping away.
I made a good number of new year's resolutions in January, but productivity effectively stopped for about three months after the breakup, and then I was off to Europe. I'd hoped that a return to an environment where I felt somewhat more comfortable culturally would reawaken some of my expressive sensibilities, but when the trip was geared almost exclusively around ultimate and ultimate players, it was difficult finding even the energy to just keep up, much less divulge in introspection.
Something to work on. But to start, I wanted to write about Erik's house in Utrecht.
We arrived late at night, and the entrance was nestled behind leafy hedges, at the end of a small driveway. I remember the steep staircases and the angled ceilings of the third floor bedrooms; the brightly painted walls, the knick-knacks and homemade artwork that filled the corners, the marvelous array of books that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. There was a well-tuned piano, and a garden under construction, and old bicycles in the garage, and doors in unexpected places.
But the thing that comes most readily to mind were the flowers. Having been brought up in a relatively utilitarian household that rarely had any kind of decoration, it was surprising to me to see fresh flowers. Impractical, expensive, and temporary--a damning trinity of faults for a family that prioritized thrift. But here, throughout this twisty-turny house nestled in greenery (no concrete blocks!) were simple daisies and wildflowers in small jars of glass and ceramic. It's not that flowers in houses surprise me so much in general, but it was clear from the way these flowers were configured that they were regularly replaced. I remember the shape of one of the jars--in the downstairs bathroom, I think--had a neck only wide enough for one flower stem. I mean, many flower vases are meant for flowers, but this one just seemed to me like it was *really* meant for flowers. Well, one flower. And because of that it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.
What struck me so much about this was that it showed genuine attention and care in in beautifying one's surroundings, and an appreciation for the sense of home that doing so creates. This is something I've never had or done in almost any place I've lived in. Knowledge that my occupancy of whatever dorm room or apartment would be only temporary discouraged me from investing too much in what I've been trained to view as materialistic frivolity. Not that such an approach didn't take its toll. Those who know me well know also that my overwhelming desire for a sense of home has probably been the primary motivator of most of the major changes in my life. To see that sense of home achieved with such complete success there in Utrecht made me again question my life's trajectory.
It inspired me to renew my earlier resolutions to focus on beauty and grace. On the positive. Relatively simple resolutions but it's easy to forget that these kinds of things require conscious effort--in other words, it's easy to be lazy. At the beginning of the summer, when I first arrived in Paris and was inundated in ennui, Doc suggested that I set some goals. So I decided to find beauty--specifically, beautiful lines. The entire aesthetic of Europe is completely different from that of Beijing, or of anywhere I've been in the US, and it was refreshing to see the care for elegance and grace in such everyday buildings as post offices and libraries. But, even after making the tourist rounds of cultural megaliths such as Vienna, Budapest, and Prague, it was in this modest home in Utrecht where I most fully sensed the kind of grace I had been looking for.
I will fill my own house with flowers. I will surround myself with colors of my choosing, and create an aesthetic for myself in this grey city of 20 million. And perhaps, perhaps, I can feel at home.