Peace
COSMIC WONDER Light Source
Fall/Winter 2010
Fall/Winter 2010
In a Light Source life...I would live in a sleepy village located on some part of the map that people forgot was even there. On the outskirts of the village, set amongst the trees, would be a tiny whitewashed cottage. There would be lavender growing beneath the trees at the front of the cottage, so that when you walked down the flagstone path towards the door, you could brush your hands across the fragrant bushes. The exterior of the cottage would be cast in warm dappled sunlight towards the evenings, and smoke would unfurl from the chimney. Around to the back of the cottage would be a colourful and chaotic garden, where nature would overcome the rules of traditional gardening and cats would roam free. A gnarled tree would overhang a small pond, across which water lilies would be scattered. And behind a low, crumbling brick wall would be a dark forest, upon which entering it would be as if time stood still.
Inside the cottage you would notice a faint smell of amber, and from the kitchen would come the comforting smell of freshly made bread in the mornings, or roasted chestnuts on autumnal evenings. On either side of a blackened cast iron fireplace in the living room would be an overflowing bookcase, and thrown over the old brown leather sofa would be a floral patchwork quilt. The chimney wall would bear an oval burnished gold filigree mirror, and across the dark wooden floor would be stretched a deep crimson patterned rug. Various candles in their glass jars would be piled upon the windowsill, waiting to be lit and placed upon the carved wooden table in the middle of the room come the evening. In a dark corner would be a wooden chest, covered with cushions to fashion a makeshift chair, within which would be all manner of old curiosities. Along one side of the room, picture frames would cover the entirety of the wall up a set of wooden stairs. Faded photographs would jostle against superbly colourful prints - a slew of memories, fancies, names and faces.
Of course as it is, I live in an area of police sirens and boarded up shops.
Inside the cottage you would notice a faint smell of amber, and from the kitchen would come the comforting smell of freshly made bread in the mornings, or roasted chestnuts on autumnal evenings. On either side of a blackened cast iron fireplace in the living room would be an overflowing bookcase, and thrown over the old brown leather sofa would be a floral patchwork quilt. The chimney wall would bear an oval burnished gold filigree mirror, and across the dark wooden floor would be stretched a deep crimson patterned rug. Various candles in their glass jars would be piled upon the windowsill, waiting to be lit and placed upon the carved wooden table in the middle of the room come the evening. In a dark corner would be a wooden chest, covered with cushions to fashion a makeshift chair, within which would be all manner of old curiosities. Along one side of the room, picture frames would cover the entirety of the wall up a set of wooden stairs. Faded photographs would jostle against superbly colourful prints - a slew of memories, fancies, names and faces.
Of course as it is, I live in an area of police sirens and boarded up shops.