#95: Katie’s Bedroom
An object valued for the space it contains.
Welcome to my humble abode, my childhood bedroom. Or more accurately, a living work of art.
Last week I wrote about the drawings on my walls and ceiling, the quantity of which you can see in the 360 photo below. This week, I am considering the whole room as an object, for it is an object, albeit once again stretching that very definition.
A bedroom, when considered as an object, is similar to a box: the focus is not generally on the box itself, but on what is inside that box. What it contains, whether that be empty space, or more objects. As you can see, I had a lot of objects in my room. It was most definitely an object to contain all objects, along with myself and a few cats from time to time.
It played its role well as a sanctuary, an object which defined a particular space that was my own, to decorate and do with as I wished (thanks to my liberal mother). I had free reign to continually add to and alter this giant, ever-changing work of art, which soon started to represent my life. My friends wrote things too, like ‘KT ❤ A’ and such like. Then when that simple high school romance passed I endeavoured to cover it up with whatever poster or card or drawing that I could find. In the past week, like an archaeological dig, I uncovered all manner of past names and love hearts, for both myself and my friends.
As I gradually took everything down, I considered these signatures and phrases, like “X was here” and so on, and I began to realise how concerned we were, my friends and I, with leaving a mark. It is a very human concern for our time. My room had become like graffiti on walls and carvings into trees, like the love locks on bridges and memorial plaques on benches. We are constantly concerned with being remembered.
Although that isn’t quite the right phrasing. These marks leave little information for the stranger who finds them. Instead, these marks satisfy our concern with leaving something, anything, behind.
Of course, these marks and this artwork have now been dismantled. I have to hope my friends are not too hurt that I have covered up their marks on my walls. Not a single one remains, not one word or drawing or little symbol: it is all white. I have primed myself a blank canvas out of my old room. It is time to start leaving my mark again, to make this my room again. Although I might withhold from writing on the walls this time.
I was surprised at how easy I found it to paint over so much history. I have a special place in my heart, and now my photo collection, for this room, but it will remain a memory now. Like
’s disembodied ponytail, it was time for me to change this important object in my life.Now I can welcome you into my new room, my new white room, which I am gradually putting back together. It is my own miniature world, an object valued for the space it contains, the space it sets aside for me as an individual, to do with as I wish.
I could not have completed such an epic job so quickly without help, so I am using this little space to say a big thank you to my Mother and my boyfriend, two amazing people who have helped me make such a huge transformation in only two weeks. Again, thank you.
