Symptom: you find that emptiness has a price, both literally and figuratively. Shambles and tangles (of heart and home) gain weight in an undaunted space filled with clean, off-white paint and carpet.
Cure: add green. Keep all things precise.
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see, this is what happens when people misuse terms that has (or had) a specific meaning; in this case minimalism. after having been hijacked by everyone from interior decoraters and architects, to critics of pop music and bar owners, the term minimalism now seem to refer to, for example, a room with less than average number of objects in it, or a bar with fewer or no things on the walls. people talk about string quartets as if they were more minimalist than, let's say, a symphony, which is absurd. minimalism is no decorative strategy, I sense, but an experience of an acute, and almost shocking absence of something, the evacuation of what we assumed to encounter and whose not-being-there leaves us debased and confused - not pleasantly caressed. an empty apartment where we expect to live could be such a place/sensation. not all good but very real and precise.
Dear anonymous,
Your reflection is indeed fascinating. For the symptoms of necessity and adventure, I recently prescribed myself one empty apartment and the experience has had an interesting effect. Things are missing from me (les chose me manquent), but I am also able to breathe and move about in a way that I haven't been able for some time. Thus, I recommend, should you be suffering from minimalism, to rent a small, fully furnished flat from someone who loves patterns and textiles. Suddenly, the absences will be missing from you, precisely.
Cheerio,
doctorwild
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