I never sat in the upstairs hallway that is between the two bedrooms. This evening I went upstairs to get something and decided to stay a while. I sat on the throw rug my back against the wall, my toes pressed against the hand-lathed balusters.
The summer sun shone through the window lighting up the pink valance that was once the bottom of someone’s dress. The fan whirled trying to blow some of the hot air back out, but it was still too warm.
Although not for me, not for the moment. The even moist heat surrounded my body, making me feel soft and sleepy.
There was something dreamy about being in this space in a way I’d never been before. Sitting on the floor on a Sunday evening, as if it were the only thing in the world I had to do.
And what a homey and ordinary scene, the fan in the window, the lamp and pictures on the wall. Nothing extraordinary here, just a moment in my life, but still I had the urge to draw it.
Maybe it will remind me to stop for a time in a place I haven’t before, even if I know it very well. To feel what I see every day in a new way.
Because once I draw something, even with the simplest of lines, my knowing of it expands and it becomes a lasting memory.
