Staying/Bruising/Moving
F21
Mary-Lou Arscott and Francesca Torello
To my Dear House,
I am so sorry that I hurt you today, but you have become so sensitive these days.
To my Human,
Darling, I only ask for you to be more gentle, but you keep using me the same way that you always have, just like my ex-humans.
To my House,
Ugh, the ex again?
You used to be so adaptable and easy-going, even when my friends came and partied all night long. Now all you do is nag, nag, nag, me about how I close the cupboards and move chairs. How can even a simple chair make you bruise now? You were never like this in your younger years.
To soon-to-be ex Human,
If you really feel that way, why don't you go find a nice, new house to romp around in if I'm not good enough for you? Better yet, move to an apartment so that you have less space to hurt with your ways.
What if buildings bruised?
People’s lives are built around routine, waking up and sleeping in the same bed in the same way. As one leaves their house, they hurry down the stairs in the same way, skimming their hand along the top of the railing or along the wall. They may take two stairs at a time, lunging across the step in between, or take their time, clutching the railing until their knuckles turn white.
The ways that people live in their spaces follow a routine, and that routine creates permanence. If buildings bruised, people would become more permanent than the houses that they live in, and the space would react on a shorter time scale. If they cared about the bruising that their house went through, they would change their habits. One could shift a bed around every few days to let the floor underneath heal from the wear and tear. People could walk down the stairs differently every day, and tip toe across to the shoe rack. Houses would display their age and use on the outside, and neighbors would see how well each house is treated.