We bought a chair so that we could sit and think.
It’s a lovely chair. It fits in the space our TV used to occupy, before we realised that we never switched it on once we had the projector, and in any case everyone’s face was going green around the edges. For a while we stacked coffee tables and junk in that corner instead, but I wanted to use it properly. Because every house needs a sit-and-think space, even (especially) one as crowded as ours.
I don’t think a person can function without somewhere to be still, a little corner with pretty, restful things in it. ‘Be still and know’, it says more than once in the scriptures. I find that coupling interesting. Souls are not things to be hammered with blunt objects, and busyness, noise and iPhone notifications are as blunt as they come. When we want our certainties to come back to us, we need quiet. We need open space. And we need, every once in a while, to sit and want nothing at all from ourselves but sitting.
Our corner could use some art on the wall (this this this) and maybe a snazzy cushion, if I get round to it (tiiiiny bit in love with these). But I’ve worked all week from this chair, watching flowers open and sun fall on my legs. I like sitting next to a bookcase with apples and pottery and a pair of tiny shoes. It feels like somewhere I could flower myself.
‘For it is only framed in space that beauty blooms. Only in space are events and objects and people unique and significant – and therefore beautiful. A tree has significance if one sees it against the empty face of sky. A note in music gains significance from the silences of either side. A candle flowers in the space of night.’
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, quoted here.
Good work, chair.