At the moment I am residing in a room assigned to be both the guestroom and the library.
The first thought, the question actually, that came to my mind was – don’t you already have something similar in your own house? The answer is both yes and no. Yes, it is a common room, with a couch big enough to be used as a bed, a sofa in front of the tiny window with a lamp towering above it, and there’s a simple, small desk with an accompanying chair. There’s nothing else, except for books, of course. It looks like an ordinary room, but it’s what’s lacking that’s making a big difference – there are no objects of personal significance. It almost feels empty, forgotten, as if no one’s been here for years, decades even, and the room’s been gathering dust and hosting spiders. Deep, almost tactile silence reigns here. The pale eggshell color of the shelves and the floor only enhances this atmosphere of timelessness. Simultaneously, it’s making the books in their colorful covers look tall and dominant.. And demanding. As an old-fashioned teacher standing, with his hands tied behind his back, above the student working on a paper, observing him patiently.
I read all the titles on these shelves but, curiously, had no wish to read the books themselves. Instead, I got an urge to write, to devote myself to postcards, e-mails, and blogs I have been seriously neglecting for weeks now.
I cannot say it’s inspiring, though.. the room that is. It’s just making me want to write.