The first thing I remember feeling as I approached the front door with the key in my hand was regret. I felt like I’d made a mistake. I remember thinking, “maybe I should have spent more time looking online.” I recall feeling that I didn’t really want to be here. A mistake. The garden looked neglected… derelict was the word first that came to mind. The pavement was splattered with bird shit, large, dry white patches of bird shit. There were weeds everywhere. It felt entirely unwelcoming. As I moved closer to the entrance, I noticed the front door was slightly ajar. I didn’t think much of it, perhaps the owner, knowing that I was moving that afternoon, wanted to fix something at the last minute? Feeling self-conscious and slightly cautious, I stepped inside (take one step forward) and shouted, “Hello. Hello?” No one answered. I remembered looking and being impressed by how high the ceilings were, the pictures on the website were accurate. “Hello!”, I shouted a little louder this time. Again, “Hello?!” No response. I stood inside the front door for a few minutes, just looking around the space. I started to feel less regret and more a sense of relief as I slowly realised that space would work as an art studio. That was the main reason for choosing the place.
In front of me is a large, steep staircase. Turn right and walk five steps, now turn sideways to the right and there you’ll see the derelict garden, but from the inside looking out through the floor-to-ceiling glass lounge room windows (click here to see the image; upload here what you see in your space). They’re huge. I like them a lot. They provide a sense of openness. Turn around and, if you look up, you will see the high ceiling and four rows of dark brown beams. Look down and ahead then walk about fifteen steps till you came to a white wooden door, open it, and step inside to the laundry. The smell in here reminds me of my grandparents’ laundry in their house in Sydney. I really adored that house. The smell is hard to describe; an almost earthy smell, like rain-soaked leaves sitting in mud combined with a hint of gas, just a hint. Oddly, the smell provides a sense of comfort, an invisible hug… happy times spent with my grandparents… summer… holidays… Sydney in the mid-80s. I know that I’ll be spending a lot of time standing in this room. The past can sometimes be the present, despite being lost. If you walk two steps, open another door, and walk another few steps you’ll be in my backyard. It is small but I don’t mind. It’s practical and manageable. Maybe I’ll buy an outdoor reading chair, it would look cool on the fake plastic grass. I could sit out here in the warm summer evenings with a glass of wine. If you turn round and walk back inside the house a few more steps, maybe four steps, and turn left, you’ll see my downstairs bathroom. Inside there’s a large white freestanding claw foot bath (eighteenth-century French aristocracy). Luxury. It’s impressive. All the tiles in the room are shiny black. Another room I’ll be spending a lot of time in.
If you turn around and walk forward three feet, you’ll find yourself back in the lounge room. Turn left and walk fifteen steps towards the lounge room windows, once you’re there turn right and walk four steps, then turn right. You’re now standing at the bottom of the staircase, there are sixteen steps, walk up and once you reach the top walk five steps. Now you’re standing at the entrance of my bedroom. This my natural habitat, well my bed is really, but I do feel most comfortable being alone in my bedroom…I guess most people do. If you go ahead and take four steps forward, you’ll find yourself next to my bed, jump on top. If you look straight ahead, you’ll see my favourite view from the house. The view is something special, especially at dusk (click
to see the image; upload
what you see in your space). You probably can’t see it, but I can. Like I said, no regrets.
parts of the story are excerpts from the author’s diary
(check Jaye’s practice here)
ALTERNATE VIEWS (images uploaded by visitors)