I can close my eyes and
see every house I've ever lived.
I can see the lights of a passing car move across the walls of
my bedroom at four.
Walk the hall of the second floor of our big old house at ten.
I remember the cool of the metal vent on my bare feet just at
its bend.
I can clearly see the pressed tin ceiling of our loft at twenty-three.
These are memories of structure, of place, of being safe within.
All these places - so many - but all found their way into my heart,
regardless.
When my husband and I found
each other we longed for some place of our own.
We as a pair, both products of meandering families, wanted to
settle in.
Nest.
We stumbled upon our gem and
instantly gained sanctuary from the world.
We were home.
When our daughter came, our
home embraced a family.
Life became richer, more vibrant, more real than ever before.
I began to see our daily life in our surroundings with fresh eyes.
All became intensely vivid, finding beauty in the simplest of
things.
The living became clearly separate from the in-between moments.
The in-between moments becoming the quiet, introspective moments.
Separate but still deeply within --
Running my hand across a painted table while hearing laughter
in the other room.
Ascending the stairs with full arms only to be greeted by the
wide eyes of a patiently waiting doll.
Before making the bed, soaking in the folds of the duvet in delicate
morning light.
These works, these images, are
of those in-between moments.
The moments I find the quiet within myself, my family, our home.
The meditative moments so close to my heart - so close to home.
Suzanne Rose
September 2006
