Wednesday, December 3, 2014

The Transformational Qualities of Golden Light

I've kept the door to Robert's room closed all this time. I go in when I need something, but can not bear to have to door open. Can not bear to see his Large Dark Computer Monitor sitting on his desk. Dark, quiet, unused, off.

A few weeks ago, during my ongoing dark days I noticed a Golden Light coming from under the door to his room. This Light....coming from "under" the door....draws me in. I have to take a look.

The Light is so inviting, warm, enticing. I just have to open the door to see it. I really have no choice here. Have to see. And when I do I experience a glowing, loving Light that envelopes me. It is the Autumn Light pouring in from the window I rationalize. It is filling the room. It is an amazing light.

I stand in the doorway and look in at the light. And I turn and look into my room, which was right next to his. This glorious "Golden Light" was not in my room. I rationalize that it is "just Autumn Light." I rationalize that it is the angle of sun, the orientation of the room, the relationship of the trees and shrubs outside the windows that allows the light to flood his room, and not mine.

I decide right then and there that I want this Light in my life. I want this Light in the house. And I leave the door open!

And so begins the reclamation. Realize that I can move the monitor off the desk. I don't have to look at it anymore. Why did this not occur to me before? The next day as I am doing a photo setup in my office—which entails clearing off my work table and setting up lights and background and tripod—I think about how much I would really like to have a place to leave my photography equipment set up all the time. And it hits me! Rob's computer table would be perfect. And look it is now empty. But not for long!

As the transformation of the room takes place, the roller coaster continues its journey. I have exciting high times and then I come across a physical object or just walk into a memory and go into free fall.

I spend a focused afternoon sorting through what is remaining of his things in the room. The floor is finally cleared. I look over the bare room. It is a blank slate for me to make it into whatever I want. I put some plants for the window seat and I drag in an arm chair to create a quiet corner. From the basement I bring up an old spool chest that doubles as an end table to the chair. And look Rob had the perfect small lamp to goes on the table.

As I gaze around the room I notice the walls are all empty. This has me burrowing in the closets for artwork. I uncover an old portfolio of drawings, etchings and paintings. Of course as I go through the artwork memories flood in. When I did a drawing, when we bought that picture, that Rob loved that one. Memories of our life together. Another reminder of the loss and change.

I manage to dry my eyes and find myself gravitating to a series of four pencil drawings that I did years ago. The drawings were done over the course of about a week. They are of one fern palm slowly unfurling. Growing from curl into full glory. Blossoming so to speak.

Buy four frames, trim the drawing and hang the series up over my photo table setup. They are now the first things I see when I look into the room from the doorway. A welcoming vision of hope and growth. There is a metamorphosis taking place.

One wall of the room is changed. What do I want to do with the rest? What artwork do I want to hang on the wall. I acknowledge that this is going to be "MY" room. Not my office, not my work room. But my inspiration room. My creative outlet room.

I pick out another drawing I did in life class while in Art School and match it with a life drawing my Aunt did. The two nudes are facing each other on the wall now.

I want my sewing machine out of the closet. Out where I can see it. Where I can use it at the slightest whim. And that means bringing the oak library table that many years ago we transported in the "Air Car". An ancient VW beetle convertible that we stuck the table up out the back.

It used to be my work table but has been relinquished to the basement for years. Of course there is a ton of stuff piled on it. And then there is the fact that it is 6 feet long and extremely heavy. Clearing it off is the easy part, but no way can I manage moving it on my own. How will I get it up the stairs?

You know how when you change one thing it starts a cascade of change? Each decision necessitated another decision and another and another. I mean while I was changing "the room" I thought about other things I wanted to change, or put up, or put out. And each act of change entailed confronting cascading memories. Sigh.

I was rummaging through a box in the basement thinking it was filled with kitchen items. But when I unwrapped the bubble wrap I found a collection of handmade pots that I had given up hope finding. They have not seen the light of day for a long long time. I bring them upstairs into MY room where there is a white bookcase. I quickly clear the shelves and position each pot perfectly. Of course the pile of books and objects that came off the shelves is now on the floor needing to be placed elsewhere.

And so it goes. Move one item and have to deal with three or four other items. And handling each piece provokes memories. And tears.

But the room is complete. Filled with very specific objects that have very specific memories to me. Rob is there in the room. He filled it with that Golden Light entice me to open the door and begin the next stage of my journey.

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