Empty house
Perhaps it’s because—-at current house prices—-we can’t begin to imagine ever being able to afford our own home that we find a particular kind of property programme so masochistically irresistible. In particular, I’m drawn to How to Rescue a House like a moth to a flame, because that shimmering mirage of the perfect wreck that you could buy for a song and ‘do up’ is so tempting. How To Rescue A House is a bit different to many of the shows because it doesn’t feature property developers who just want to make as much profit as possible before moving on to the next place. All the people looking for a property want a home to live in, and generally can’t afford to get one in their area for a price that they can afford. It’s also an excellent reminder of the scandalous waste of perfectly decent—-and often architecturally interesting—-homes that are just lying empty in our cities, while identical mock tudor shoeboxes spread like a rash over former green field sites.
However, my other reason for liking the programme is because of the glimpses of people’s lives that you get through their abandoned homes. It can be achingly sad and intimate, particularly when the former owner has lived there for many years and moulded the house into their shape like an old overcoat. One house belonged to a person who had gone into hospital suddenly, obviously expecting to return, but had ended up in a nursing home. An unwashed mug sat on a table, and there was a wooden chair in front of the gas fire, still with the imprint of the owner on the faded beige cushion. Tattered net curtains at the kitchen window seemed to have been repaired haphazardly by spiders’ webs, and a quiet layer of dust settled on every surface.
It made me itch to get in there with a camera and document it all, which made me feel slightly guilty. But how would you feel if you bought the house? Clearing away a life like that would feel like clearing away a person’s memories, and then erasing any vestiges of the person themselves.
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So, if you ever did get around to viewing a house for sale, and had one of those "I really feel I could live here" moments, might you actually be networking with the previous occupant(s) and not just feeling empathy with the bricks and mortar?----- It's just stuff, these things of our daily lives. We are not our stuff. Clearing it all away, wiping out all traces does not wipe out a person because we are much more than that. It's best to honour that it is a representation of a life and gracefully let it go.
by Jeannine @ 23/11/2005 1:12 pm • Permalink •
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Mr. D.: Well, inasmuch as people tend to reveal something of their life in a house, if it was still decorated and furnished, I think it would influence me a bit.
Jeannine: Of course it's just stuff and not our entire existence, but photographs, books, ornaments and so on form a kind of shadow of part of our identity, so looking around a house with these objects still in it, particularly if the owner is never coming back, is slightly melancholy.
by bsag @ 23/11/2005 6:12 pm • Permalink •
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This doesn't relate to this thread but the Beck link doesn't work for me. Got to it another way, but just thought you should know.
Glad to see Hot Rats featured - my fav for the iPod when using the rowing machine - certainly negates the boredom & has the right aerobic rhythmn (leaving aside the obvious musical merits) to force a naturally reluctant exerciser to keep on keeping on.
Keep up the eternally interesting, diverse and ocaisionally slightly bonkers blogs.
(too much 'keep' there, I know)
by bernard @ 24/11/2005 1:12 am • Permalink •
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