The Large View

I was going to call this post The Picture Window, but I don’t technically have one. I have a large front window that, in its original form, had numerous small pieces of glass. Now that we’ve updated, it has three pieces to incorporate the sliders on each side. I find these sixties’ style windows to be aesthetic and don’t understand why people renovate by installing small windows in place of the large ones. It gives their houses a dingy appearance, both in and out.

I don’t care what the pulp fiction enthusiasts and other crusaders claim; architecture in the sixties could be lovely. There is a belief that postmodernism brought only ugliness, and we must reach again for the elaborate beauty that existed prior to this time. The problem with these purists is that they fail to see the beauty because they believe it does not exist. They have an ugly filter over their eyes. This is a kind of brainwashing; you can see it go the opposite direction, too. There was once a YouTube video out there that demonstrated that men had been brainwashed to see anything in yoga pants as attractive; therefore, their sexual beauty triggers went off even when the person wearing them turned out to be a man when he drew closer. It’s a dumb video, of course, as most on YouTube are. However, it did demonstrate that ideas people hold can create a filter for what they observe. In other words, humans aren’t all that capable of being pure scientists. Scientists are either unaware of this in themselves, or they are liars. Same, same, as people who lie to themselves are still liars.

Despite the goals of postmodernism, which was to destruct the traditions, institutions, and valued art and architecture of the past, it’s nearly impossible to entirely squelch the human artist’s desire to create beauty. That is why, if you examine the elements of mid century homes–preferably without the ugly filter in place–you will see an emphasis on natural beauty that appears to be an integral part of the earth. Sixties’ homes often incorporated natural materials such as wood paneling, tile, and stonework. Within these natural materials, there were planters with greenery, both inside and outside the house, as well as large windows and perhaps skylights to allow in natural lighting that would infuse the plants, obviously, but also the people. The malls we used to visit in the eighties were influenced by this same aesthetic (they were no doubt built in the seventies), as they had clean lines, plenty of open space, terrazzo tiles (which look like a pebbled beach), skylights, and very large indoor planters, often containing trees and surrounded by wooden benches. This open area of the mall was always pleasant to me, but I have to admit that being dragged to the department stores was quite a different thing. Department stores were and are indeed ugly, crowded, dingy albeit brightened with false light, and they stink like perfume and pumped-in fragrance. Btw, please don’t ever invite me to your house if you use Glade plugins because, if you do, your house reeks like a department store. I used to have meltdowns when I was forced to go shopping as a child due to the inevitability of visiting a store. I kind of still do–inwardly. If there is one activity that I find a bane of existence, it’s shopping. When my husband drags me to the stores, I have to be prepared ahead of time. Maybe a few drinks at a pub first might help. Most of the time, I would rather dress in rags than have to do it. But sitting on a bench under a skylight and the fronds of an overhanging tree, while staring at terrazzo tiles–that I will gladly do.

My sixties’ house has tile, large windows, a brick fireplace, bricks flowing around the winding large kitchen counter space, and it used to have wood paneling in the family room; it still does, to be honest, but the previous owners slapped a few gallons of white paint over it. My office at work is from about the same year as my house, 1962, and is now a mishmash of elements. However, it still contains large windows, and I can’t tell you how much it pleases me that I can stare out this window and watch the world go by throughout the day. Also, the old windows were replaced, just as at my house, and now they can all slide open, allowing in the breezes. Yes, something this small brings me immeasurable happiness. Old windows tend to be caulked down and sealed with a hundred pounds of silicon because it’s better for insulation, which tempts me to throw a chair through the glass so that I can experience fresh air. Thankfully, I’ve withstood that temptation.

On weekends, I enjoy sitting in my living room and staring at the world go by, just as at work. People jog and walk their dogs; I now have two neighbors who are professional yard-salers, which means there is occasionally much traffic drifting past. I play my accordion in this front room, while sitting on the couch and staring out the window. I also have a music stand for learning new songs or propping up song lyrics, so I am often staring at that, but the temptation to watch the outside world is too big to withstand most of the time. On weekdays, now that we’re in DST, when I play, the dipping afternoon sun lights up the bling on my accordion, flashing it everywhere. It’s incredibly beautiful and blinding, and when that happens, I often have to play with my eyes closed–again, with the looming temptation to stare at the reflection beginning to emerge on the window, as I’m a shadow behind the lustrous shine of my instrument.

At some point, I become part of the drifting traffic, as I go for my own daily walk. As much as I enjoy the large view from my window, the view outside is even larger. Being outside is a restorative for the brain, even if this time of year, daily walks give me hives. I live in an area where people create their “aesthetic” by spraying Roundup into the spring wind, which means I’m generally very ill after walking. I don’t know what to do about that. Part of having a large view is accepting the foibles of almost civilized humans, which includes putting up with laziness. I just hope it doesn’t someday kill me, as my reactions are anaphylactic. I have to remember that they are also killing themselves, as no one wears hazard gear (this is a legitimate time to wear a mask and cover up). Ultimately, I still take my daily walk and try to give sprayers a wide berth, though I still end up with hives, the taste of Roundup in my mouth, and splitting headaches. Nature. It kind of sucks at times–this is assuming humans are part it, along with their inventions. At best, sixties’ houses are mock nature, a cultivated attempt at mirroring what God created, which can be quite ugly at times from a human perspective. A large view is a large view.