My Studio #140
Good thing that I bought an extra suitcase for my walls. Even though it might have been possible to squeeze everything in one, the drywall might get squished and damaged during the flight. I mean, when I first moved here I brought all the walls but for occasional visits I only bring the walls of my bedroom, a bit of kitchen and the parts around the light switches.
After moving all the furniture in another room, I can clearly see all the past folds and wrinkles on the walls next to drawings, writings and hanging photos. It makes it faster to fit the wall into the suitcase.
But the wall is more fragile, with time, I have to be more and more careful not to break the paper of the drywall. The key is to break the glue only of the surfaces you want to fold, that way you can control the folds and not let the wall collapse on you.
As I alternate the sides from which I make the cuts, I can fold the wall down like a hand fan.
The room got pretty foggy from all the dust, I wonder what people think seeing white dust going out of my window like smoke. The bedroom takes up the main section of the suitcase. The kitchen fills up all the pockets, other sections and the light switches fit just right in the backpack.
The space behind the walls look different every time which is so odd because it’s supposed to be void. Nothing happens between the backsides of walls. Well, it is true that I only see them once a year when I take the walls down so perhaps it’s the everything else that changes.
I think of running into the wall and breaking right into my neighbors room like a superman or one of those powerful characters from cleaning powder commercials. Maybe one day I will have the courage to do that. I think I’m all ready to head to the airport, everything is packed and locked.
I always wrap my suitcases in plastic just to avoid the headache of the drywall dust pouring out; I’ve never had a problem since, if we don’t count the extra $400 for the cost of overweight luggage and a few weird looks. Flight is long and tiring.
After the whole twenty four hours I’m finally back home. This one is also just a flat on the fourth floor of an apartment building.
Perhaps the only difference between the other flats, and the reason no one wants to rent it out, is the lack of walls. The furniture looks funny without the walls.
The whole time I'm not here, the flat stands like a fully naked person sleeping on the warm asphalt at night. Every time I come back I cover him with a blanket.
The process of unpacking the walls is a pretty surprising one. After all the turbulence you never know in what condition it will be when you open the suitcase.
As I carefully unzip the main section and make the second and final turn with the zipper, the wall, pushing the cover with all its tension explodes with the white clouds, throwing me back and erecting, both frighteningly and cheerfully to welcome itself back home. The whole flat echoes the excitement for the split second, keeping the wall vibrating upright, shaking off the dust and stretching. As the white cloud evens out in the room, and the momentum recedes, the wall too, falls down the gravity and drapes over, with a stark exhale, on the suitcase and the floor.
I open the window to let the dust out and gathered my tools, getting ready to stitch the walls back to their place. Carefully gluing back up all the cuts and folds, I put my bedroom walls up right; then finished the kitchen and the light switches.
The structure of the flat is still mostly exposed which both heightens my presence here and saddens it. The neighbor right next to me always screams in his sleep and now when half the wall between us is gone, he sounds like a helicopter. I brush all the dust off of my clothes and go downstairs in the yard.
The neighbors greet me.
They haven’t seen me since last year and they keep telling me how much I’ve changed, and I’m telling them the same.
After moving all the furniture in another room, I can clearly see all the past folds and wrinkles on the walls next to drawings, writings and hanging photos. It makes it faster to fit the wall into the suitcase.
But the wall is more fragile, with time, I have to be more and more careful not to break the paper of the drywall. The key is to break the glue only of the surfaces you want to fold, that way you can control the folds and not let the wall collapse on you.
As I alternate the sides from which I make the cuts, I can fold the wall down like a hand fan.
The room got pretty foggy from all the dust, I wonder what people think seeing white dust going out of my window like smoke. The bedroom takes up the main section of the suitcase. The kitchen fills up all the pockets, other sections and the light switches fit just right in the backpack.
The space behind the walls look different every time which is so odd because it’s supposed to be void. Nothing happens between the backsides of walls. Well, it is true that I only see them once a year when I take the walls down so perhaps it’s the everything else that changes.
I think of running into the wall and breaking right into my neighbors room like a superman or one of those powerful characters from cleaning powder commercials. Maybe one day I will have the courage to do that. I think I’m all ready to head to the airport, everything is packed and locked.
I always wrap my suitcases in plastic just to avoid the headache of the drywall dust pouring out; I’ve never had a problem since, if we don’t count the extra $400 for the cost of overweight luggage and a few weird looks. Flight is long and tiring.
After the whole twenty four hours I’m finally back home. This one is also just a flat on the fourth floor of an apartment building.
Perhaps the only difference between the other flats, and the reason no one wants to rent it out, is the lack of walls. The furniture looks funny without the walls.
The whole time I'm not here, the flat stands like a fully naked person sleeping on the warm asphalt at night. Every time I come back I cover him with a blanket.
The process of unpacking the walls is a pretty surprising one. After all the turbulence you never know in what condition it will be when you open the suitcase.
As I carefully unzip the main section and make the second and final turn with the zipper, the wall, pushing the cover with all its tension explodes with the white clouds, throwing me back and erecting, both frighteningly and cheerfully to welcome itself back home. The whole flat echoes the excitement for the split second, keeping the wall vibrating upright, shaking off the dust and stretching. As the white cloud evens out in the room, and the momentum recedes, the wall too, falls down the gravity and drapes over, with a stark exhale, on the suitcase and the floor.
I open the window to let the dust out and gathered my tools, getting ready to stitch the walls back to their place. Carefully gluing back up all the cuts and folds, I put my bedroom walls up right; then finished the kitchen and the light switches.
The structure of the flat is still mostly exposed which both heightens my presence here and saddens it. The neighbor right next to me always screams in his sleep and now when half the wall between us is gone, he sounds like a helicopter. I brush all the dust off of my clothes and go downstairs in the yard.
The neighbors greet me.
They haven’t seen me since last year and they keep telling me how much I’ve changed, and I’m telling them the same.