I have a thing for old buildings. The older the better. The more derelict they are, the more dilapidated and run-down and ramshackle they are, the fonder I feel towards them. I extend my affection equally to stately coral edifices and modest wooden houses. I love the features of these older buildings, whether two-foot-thick walls made from solid hand-cut coral blocks or flaking shingles; cool, broad verandahs or tiny galleries with geometric railings; the sturdy balanced proportions of Georgian great houses or the neat symmetry, on a smaller scale, of chattel houses. I find them so much preferable to the characterless concrete bungalows and ostentatious multi-story monstrosities that dot the landscape now. But it must be more than an appreciation of traditional Bajan architecture that moves me so, that causes me to feel a sudden rush of tenderness toward these abandoned structures. I think it's that I imagine them when they were more than just old houses. I imagine them with shutters opened wide to let in fresh breezes, with curtains hanging in the windows, with carefully tended gardens, with the smell of food coming from the kitchen, with the sound of footsteps in the passages, and voices in the rooms. I imagine them when they were cared for, when they were lived in, when they were homes. And I wish that I could restore them, not just reconstruct the architectural characteristics and the structural integrity, but restore them in a less tangible way, save them, bring them back to life, fill them with love again. Hopefully some day with some house, that wish will come true.
This post sounds like the beginning of a novel.
Posted by: Elspeth | June 07, 2006 at 07:38 PM