Rubber Gloves

For such a long time I was under the impression that I’d really love to own a house. A grand house. A spacious, beautifully furnished and luxuriously appointed chateau in which to swan around and… what? Swan around and.. what? Clean? Fret? Take instagram photos and gloat? Entertain? Rearrange? Good lord, this grand house project is so demanding. I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to make those messy incense and perfume things any more… Maybe the new antique bonsai collection needs more direct sunlight? How do you clean a Travertine marble spa? I can’t understand how to program all these alien technology timers and I keep losing the remote for the house ambience controller. I’ve forgotten my PIN to access the perfume lab.

“HEY…. there’s a mark here on the sofa/shower-screen/wall/bench-top/skirting etc etc”

One day, not very long ago, I fell into a deep reverie. In my waking dream, I imagined a small, gated and cobbled courtyard at the back of a lane-way. The lane itself was nondescript, even a little bit shabby. I was drawn to the downstairs portion of a two-story building at the back of the courtyard. It was an old, weathered, but solidly built stone building. Could have been in Spain, France, Melbourne?

The building’s doors and windows were sturdy wood and some of the paint was peeling. I opened a door and entered a lovely room. I saw a slightly worn (but still beautiful) Persian rug, some plump, lived in lounge-chairs and some well-stocked book cases. A few paintings were on the walls and a vase on the table contained a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.

The most startling impact inside my imagined room was made by the light. It streamed in on an angle that saturated the whole room in glorious shafts of golden sunlight that caused each and every item in the room to glow in vivid colour. From the exterior of the building there was no hint at all of the warmth and the loveliness within. Nothing that inspired anyone to seek entry, nothing to suggest splendour, comfort or the sheer luxury within. The luxury was absolutely about the room’s relationship to the light.

The feeling of being in that room was whole. It was so right. It felt like home to me.

My realisation is very freeing. I don’t need a big house. I’m content to inhabit a radiantly small space in real life. I don’t have time to entertain or fret about furniture, I’m enraptured by learning all that I can in the glorious light, drawing comfort from the small spaces I have filled with sensory delights and love. I reject being owned by property, branded by someone else’s idea of elitism. I don’t want a brand new ute. Instead, I choose to inhabit my life with creative meaning and honesty and love.

As a brand, TRNP is a tiny house. An obscure, tucked-away meditation on golden light and the exquisite inner beauty of real life.




photo – New Delhi, TR ©2005

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