The Room

There is a room at the end of a very large house with four walls, eight windows, three doors, and a hard wood floor. The room is separated from the house by a locked door, a two-sided, mirrored cabinet, and mattresses and blankets shoved between. There is a sink, a shower, and a doll-house stove and refrigerator. The cabinets in the kitchen are too high to reach and there is no drawer for silverware. The walls are bear with the exception of two artistic prints. One a Tim Cantor entitled "Stalking the Scarecrow," number 15 of 80, and the other, an Allison Kuehn reprint of "Turtle Beach," a watercolor of sea turtles returning to the ocean. Both images are either seeking or being sought, depending on the mood with which you view them. There are photographs stacked on the desk above the computer, cameras in the cupboard, lenses on the shelves, and a Toyo 4 x 5 bellowed camera numbered "8" on the coffee table. It is a barren and forlorn room piqued with anticipation. It is a husk of a room waiting for its purpose to again be realized and the meat of its existence replaced. It is the room of a student who is waiting - a shell in much the same manner as the room. It is a haven of study and work, failure and success. It houses the mode of an education and embodies the struggle yet to be met. It is my room. Together we wait for the next session to begin. We wait for being and purpose and find irony in the tribulation that is emptiness.