There are many windows in London, some new, some ancient. There are many ways of looking at the world: acutely, with finesse, discrimination, or attentiveness; one may look through a glass darkly or one may sit by the window and dream away with the clouds or remember all that is lost...There are many windows in London; sometimes I think I need only one. The best are the high windows around Mile End. There are posh windows around London House (even here class rears it's ugly head). There are windows for Muslims (mostly shattered) and windows for the infidels (boarded up).
Someone once said windows are feminine. Is that because it is easier to imagine an interior life? A house without windows is an asylum or a lecture theatre.
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A window is like a bridge, always leading somewhere else. Piercing the solidity of the world. Well, okay, can't you write anything but these inane generalizations?
I don't really like taking photos because it stops the wandering process (as does coffee, according to new research). But it is nice in one sense: you're half aware of things that are out of the ordinary, open to things that might catch your attention.
The first three pictures are of Charlotte Street and some others nearby. The first reminds me Europe and on a sunny day one can trick oneself into believing that London has grown warmer, softer..has lost it's northern roots. The food on this street was always too expensive for you and you always thought: if I ever have any money I'll eat at such fancy restaurants.
The second, with it's old window was just the thing. This window always reminds me of 1966. I imagine, a la DeLillo, the World Cup and not a soul on the streets. The pubs are full, and with their dense smoke, plush seats, and deep shade are a kind of refuge from the sun and time. And behind this 1966 window a very old man sits down on his bed, wipes his forehead and admits to himself that he cannot make anything of his life. Near Whitfield Street, I believe.
I don't know why, but the third reminded me of a Lutheran church (there's actually one two minutes away). The austerity of windows! (So speaketh the wahabi)
The 4th, which was off Gower Street (probably near Malet Street) reminds me of school and exams and the life of the mind. At the corner of this street I passed my MSc. exam (by the skin of my teeth). As always, the aim was: just do enough to get through.
The last one is a magical little street that always catches my attention. It's just next to a theatre as you walk down from Denmark Street to turn into Drury Lane (a walk I've made a thousand times). On a dark winter evening the lights go on and in the high windows you imagine some second-rate American actress pouring over her lines.
That's it.
I don't think I'll take photos, however, of places closer to home. Some things remain true only if not spoken.
Someone once said windows are feminine. Is that because it is easier to imagine an interior life? A house without windows is an asylum or a lecture theatre.
+002.jpg)
+003.jpg)
+004.jpg)
+006.jpg)
+008.jpg)
I don't really like taking photos because it stops the wandering process (as does coffee, according to new research). But it is nice in one sense: you're half aware of things that are out of the ordinary, open to things that might catch your attention.
The first three pictures are of Charlotte Street and some others nearby. The first reminds me Europe and on a sunny day one can trick oneself into believing that London has grown warmer, softer..has lost it's northern roots. The food on this street was always too expensive for you and you always thought: if I ever have any money I'll eat at such fancy restaurants.
The second, with it's old window was just the thing. This window always reminds me of 1966. I imagine, a la DeLillo, the World Cup and not a soul on the streets. The pubs are full, and with their dense smoke, plush seats, and deep shade are a kind of refuge from the sun and time. And behind this 1966 window a very old man sits down on his bed, wipes his forehead and admits to himself that he cannot make anything of his life. Near Whitfield Street, I believe.
I don't know why, but the third reminded me of a Lutheran church (there's actually one two minutes away). The austerity of windows! (So speaketh the wahabi)
The 4th, which was off Gower Street (probably near Malet Street) reminds me of school and exams and the life of the mind. At the corner of this street I passed my MSc. exam (by the skin of my teeth). As always, the aim was: just do enough to get through.
The last one is a magical little street that always catches my attention. It's just next to a theatre as you walk down from Denmark Street to turn into Drury Lane (a walk I've made a thousand times). On a dark winter evening the lights go on and in the high windows you imagine some second-rate American actress pouring over her lines.
That's it.
I don't think I'll take photos, however, of places closer to home. Some things remain true only if not spoken.
1 comment:
windows can also reflect! e.g. passers-by, with or without cameras (but if the angle isn't right, we can't ever know of course)
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