My Writing Room

I would like to say a few words about my writing room : I don’t have one. I write in the kitchen, a corner of the kitchen. There, I have a small table with a lamp and clock – the only one in the house – and an equally small stool. I also take my meals at this table.

A few words about the table : it’s plain, spartan even, and is completely lacking in ornamental carvings and accents. All edges, those of its legs included, are sharp, 90° angles, the one exception being the front edge of the table top, which is slightly convex. It has a shallow drawer (would this make it a desk ?) in which I keep a few pens and pen cases, a wooden letter opener whose tip has broken off, and a few pieces of stationery – one envelope and two letterheads, to be precise – from the Hôtel Idou Anfa in Casablanca. A small, roll-away filing cabinet stands to the right of the table.

A few words about the filing cabinet : it’s small, as I said, and has three drawers : the top two are shallow and contain writing and drawing supplies, and the bottom one is deep and holds hanging files. On top of the filing cabinet there is a wooden tray and in that tray sits a white ceramic serving dish, both rectangular. On the serving dish I have placed a small cobalt bottle that once contained sake. I like its shape and color.

In the top two drawers of the filing cabinet I store pencils with various grades of lead, pencil sharpeners of different types, erasers, a ruler, scissors, a magnifying glass, a loupe, bookmarks, X-acto knives, a small stapler, an equally small staple remover, a three-inch square plastic box filled with writing nibs, pads of drawing paper, a pocket watercolor set, another for Japanese calligraphy (which itself contains a tiny ink block, and an equally tiny ink tray and brush), and a rectangular wooden box with four nib holders, two of which are fitted with nibs.

In the bottom drawer of the cabinet hang a number of files. Their contents are of no interest.

A few more words about the table : its plainness appeals to me. If I can keep it uncluttered (not too hard to do), the “feel” of my writing space harmonizes with the austere table design, which is heightened by its facing a white wall. The windows are in the wall opposite.

I like this arrangement for two reasons : one, I find it uncomfortable to sit for any length of time facing bright light, and two, the view from my kitchen windows is of no interest. There is a small window to the upper right of my desk, however ; it gives on my closet, which also has a small window that gives on the neighbors’ yard with its fruit trees and, beyond, a few palm trees and a bit of blue sky. There’s a skylight in the kitchen, which ensures ample overhead light even on gray days and moonlight at night. On moonless nights there is always the lamp.

A few words about it : it’s a drafting lamp and stands on the far left corner of the table. I usually position its extensible arm at a 90° angle. From its “elbow” dangle two beaded necklaces and a fine leather strip tied into balls at both ends. On its base stands a short stack of postcards featuring reproductions of artworks. They are among my few concessions to decoration. Displayed currently is flower still life by Fantin-Latour. When I feel like a change I shuffle the cards.

A few words about decoration : I find it essential, albeit in small doses. On that subject, have I said anything about the azulejo ?

A few words about it : it sits on the sill of the window to the upper right of my desk. It is one of two that I brought back from a trip to Andalucía and Morocco in early 1997. I carried them around in a duffel bag with my clothes and papers as I traveled on planes, trains, ferries and buses from southern Europe to North Africa and back, then finally home to the U.S. I’m amazed they didn’t break.

I bought the azulejos in a shop in Sevilla. They had been used, as evidenced by their chipped edges and the smears of plaster on their unglazed backs. I have no idea how old they are or what buildings they might have adorned. I wonder who may have gazed at them or ran their fingers over them or cleaned them. I wonder how they came to be removed from their walls. Their makers and previous owners likely never imagined that one day they would grace the walls of a house on the far edge of the North American continent.

Both are imitations of Moroccan zelliges. Unlike the latter, mosaics made up of small, individually hand-cut earthenware tiles of various shapes and colors, glazed on one side and arranged into intricate, abstract geometric patterns ; these are large, rectangular earthenware tiles, painted to resemble mosaics of small, individually hand-cut earthenware tiles of various shapes and colors, glazed on one side and arranged into intricate, abstract geometric patterns.

A few words about the word azulejo : it derives from the Arabic ‫اﻟﺰﻟﯿﺞ‬ [al zulayj], meaning “polished stone,” and not from the Spanish word for blue. Apparently, zelliges were initially created in imitation of Roman mosaics, which were made of small pieces of polished stone, or marble, or glass. The Romans had colonized North Africa and many of their mosaics survived them and outlived their empire. As many zelliges did the Moors and al-Andalus. I sometimes think of this when I write at my table. I wonder what will outlive us.

To come back to the table : its top is marked here and there with shallow scratches and indentations of various shapes and sizes, most of which have been there for years. One of them is an awkwardly drawn smiley face made by my daughter when she was a small child. She must have pressed hard when drawing it on paper and unintentionally inscribed it into the table’s surface. You have to know where to look to see it and angle your gaze just so against the light before it will appear. It is a cherished, secret mark, a sign from another life. Until now I may have been the only one to know it was there and may still be the only one to have ever seen it.

Photo : GB