Stop. Look. Listen.
Remember that childhood slogan about crossing the street? It’s also good instruction for any daily life moment of transition. What am I doing? What next? Time to eat? Somewhere to go?
Gaze aimlessly out a window.
Doors and windows are fascinating architectural details and metaphors for what happens in life. Somehow, they remain central to our lives—even the overdone metaphors. Perhaps the small book I once created is included in that generalization, but still…
Door Window: the way in—the way out.
There was a time when nearly everyone smoked cigarettes, a habit that enforced regular pauses during the day. Bars were full of smoke. While restrictions were gradually imposed on buses, restaurants, shops, and movie theaters—many public places were likely full of smoke. It took a couple decades, but the national campaign to reduce the hazardous habit was successful.
The painting reminds me of the East Village of Manhattan when I looked out of this window daily for the entire 1980s…
I frequently sat inside the window with a Rolling Rock beer and occasional Marlboro Light during my brief time as a casual smoker. The street of Ukrainian elders, youthful artists and fashionistas could be lively—other times, quiet. Guys from a well-known downtown band could be seen playing frisbee in the street. Late-night movie shoots happened there. I watched a candlelight march move along on nearby Avenue A as the overgrown homeless camp that filled Tompkins Square was being removed by authorities. Soon after, mothers with baby buggies and chess players seemed to immediately occupy the cleaned-up park.
Most of the time, the picturesque belltower and urban trees outside that window offered a slice of sanity in a place of urban chaos.
I have lived in a windowed loft above a major Denver highway and another on a busy Main Street in Buffalo—both views active and noisy. More recently, I reside in the country with windows opening to bird sounds and wind chimes. After a lifetime of rentals with windowless kitchens, I aspired to find home that included a window over the sink. One spends a surprising amount of time there. Perhaps I am just noticing that more now that I find those times so much more enjoyable.
Artists require a lot of nothing to create. I recall listening to an interview with author Ann Patchett speaking about the idea of getting married—her concern that her boyfriend properly understands her tendency as a writer to spend a fair amount of time doing little more than staring into space.
A lot of gazing out windows is actually staring into space more than examination of anything going on beyond the glass.
My basement art studio is windowless. However, my office has one with impressive Hydrangea blooms during the late Summer. My desk faces a wall of pictures, art, and words—also good for aimless gazing.
The thing about gazing out windows—others may be able to gaze in. The right curtain makes all the difference.
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