It’s a Light Room – or maybe rather the room of light.
A room not defined by its inhabitants, instead influenced by the onset of nature. A mood defying setting, not harmonized by its people, instead a reverse effect, morning people, who wake up with sunshine caressing their frames, the whiteness of their bedding enhancing the light flow.
Yet at the same time, the light room has instances of shadows, filtered with greys, sombre effects, darkness shattered by lightning as stormy waves dance across its walls, its bed.
It’s on light days one notices character stamps, traces of habitants that categorize their most private of space. People that value memories as frames of happiness are set upon white washed shelves alongside rows of books that carry worlds of their own. Adventures.
We see valuables, weapons, watches – tiny fragments of lives influenced by people, environments, history, religion all chucked together like a mixed salad of togetherness. An obvious as two independents found each other, became one.
It’s the fragments of habitants that turn the light room into the room of light, not the openness, the windows, the whiteness. Life, love and lots of laughter filter through its shadows, cracks open its darkness, removes its grey.
My Head "In A Nutshell" 