Have you ever wondered what you can see and learn about someone from their own space? Delicately taking in the treasures inside their walls. Including those inside the walls we build with our minds.

I’ve walked through that door before. Your senses instinctually take over, and it feels good. The lungs open, the skin tightens, and the brain evaluates the newness around you. 

My nose was trying to find danger, but it instead found Baies.

I imagine spaces as if they are people, infused with shades of deeper meaning. In the glimpse of the world he occupies, you might find yourself imagining you exist there too.

In a world that is warm, and alive with his presence. Breathing in his atmosphere. The neat stack of New Yorker magazines, artworks painted beyond their canvas limits, and the books: non-fiction in grand scale, poetry, and an epic tale of codependence from characters with vulnerability pressed to their hearts.

Observing. His rust coloured linen that spreads across rich oak timber. A copy of The Great Believers placed next to a white reading chair in the far corner of the room. And half a coffee table, that bears no top, which reminds me of a Duchamp readymade. 

There are the stories of his neighbours’ routines too. It feels like Grace Kelly in Hitchcock’s Rear Window, watching and listening in rapt attention to hear James Stewart’s discoveries of the day’s investigation. 

His space indulges more than a conversation, and more than a moment to listen to. It’ll show you what you cannot see.

I look at my own space now, and its newly painted walls. I follow the stems of roses planted in the deco mouldings on my ceiling. I watch the shadows stretch across the bare floors and glow as the light outside pushes through clouds passing above. I look forward to mapping out the lighting patterns in each room.

This is part of the world I exist in now. And this is my new space. Currently empty of furniture, yet full of things that have never been.


Words by Jordan Turner
Shot by Oscar Leal

Originally an article for BELANCĒ’s journal.




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