I Spy
As a kid in kindergarten who hadn't known a drop of English I would often find solace in books and films. I think it was out of those books and movies, from which my view of an Eden had come from.
Growing up on Long Island, I've always found myself drawn to the sea. I guess it's because of culture partly. Russians often go to Crimea and the Black Sea for vacation. Sailing is also a popular past time, My mother knows how to sail a sailboat. There is something about the huge vastness of the ocean. You sit and look and all you see is this beautiful bluish green. And you can't help but think that maybe, somewhere in the depths of that ocean some sort of secret treasure lies. It sits on a razors edge of fear and curiosity. The sea also has a specific smell, something along the lines of rotting sea weed and salt. Individually it seems like a horrible smell, but combined I could only describe it as an "umami" of smell, something along the lines of a dull but rich, pleasant smell which settles inside your nose.
For a house, light houses have always been my bread and butter. I've always enjoyed more tense and cramped places. I think in part is because they always feel more comfortable and warm. I guess it also fits my concept of minimalism, as I try and hold onto only the things I need. Often when I buy something for a hobby I enjoy, I never settle for something disposable. In part because I'm too lazy to order something unless absolutely necessary, but also because using the best you can get for a long time always seems smarter than using something which is okay for a short time. There is often a scene in my head of a rainy day on the sea, where the sky has turned gray, the rain tatters against the window and turns the ocean into a rough, rocky surface. And I sit inside a warm lighthouse, inside a round porthole, looking outside.
Lastly, a forest, filled with trees turned crooked and sparse from the seas salty breeze. A reminder that in the end, nature sets it's own boundaries. For the tree, its the salty inhospitable beach, and for us it's the saltier, groundless ocean. I think I always remember a scene from a book(and a game) called I Spy: Treasure Hunt. Oaks tower over you, crowned with blankets of a dark luscious green. Where light peaks out at you here and there. There are large boulders there, covered in a thick green moss. How they got there, you might never know.
Growing up on Long Island, I've always found myself drawn to the sea. I guess it's because of culture partly. Russians often go to Crimea and the Black Sea for vacation. Sailing is also a popular past time, My mother knows how to sail a sailboat. There is something about the huge vastness of the ocean. You sit and look and all you see is this beautiful bluish green. And you can't help but think that maybe, somewhere in the depths of that ocean some sort of secret treasure lies. It sits on a razors edge of fear and curiosity. The sea also has a specific smell, something along the lines of rotting sea weed and salt. Individually it seems like a horrible smell, but combined I could only describe it as an "umami" of smell, something along the lines of a dull but rich, pleasant smell which settles inside your nose.
For a house, light houses have always been my bread and butter. I've always enjoyed more tense and cramped places. I think in part is because they always feel more comfortable and warm. I guess it also fits my concept of minimalism, as I try and hold onto only the things I need. Often when I buy something for a hobby I enjoy, I never settle for something disposable. In part because I'm too lazy to order something unless absolutely necessary, but also because using the best you can get for a long time always seems smarter than using something which is okay for a short time. There is often a scene in my head of a rainy day on the sea, where the sky has turned gray, the rain tatters against the window and turns the ocean into a rough, rocky surface. And I sit inside a warm lighthouse, inside a round porthole, looking outside.
Lastly, a forest, filled with trees turned crooked and sparse from the seas salty breeze. A reminder that in the end, nature sets it's own boundaries. For the tree, its the salty inhospitable beach, and for us it's the saltier, groundless ocean. I think I always remember a scene from a book(and a game) called I Spy: Treasure Hunt. Oaks tower over you, crowned with blankets of a dark luscious green. Where light peaks out at you here and there. There are large boulders there, covered in a thick green moss. How they got there, you might never know.
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