February 1, 2012
At the moment I’m house-sitting in an apartment in Clifton Hill in Melbourne. It’s a cute little deco building and there are apartments below and above me, and all around are the windows and balconies of other brick buildings. I sit on the balcony to write, looking up at the chimney tops and out at all the other apartments across from me. In the morning I watch the suited corporate people leave, striding down the long driveway, and then it’s just myself and the day dwellers.
The sound of the guy downstairs playing his guitar keeps me company. Sometimes he stops and I know that we’re both procrastinating at the same time. There’s the couple who both read their iPads over late breakfast at the kitchen table, and the man with a life-size anatomical skeleton hanging at the window – possibly a med student, or just someone who has a rather macabre taste in interior design. Their daily routines give structure to my days. At night, I love to sit out there and see the different shades of light glowing from their windows.
Writing is such an incredibly solitary activity – a passive, quiet, often lonely thing, and so I’ve always needed to write by a window, to gaze out at something, without ever really looking, while I’m trying to order my thoughts or gain some sort of inspiration. A blank wall cannot provide the same effect, nor can a desk facing inwards to a room or an office – the writer’s block that strikes me is crippling.
Perhaps because of this, my favourite film has always been Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window. Weirdly, for a plot that involves a rather horrific murder, I’ve always found something comforting about it. The sort of film you put on when you’re sick or lonely or heartbroken. It’s the set-up: the wide bay windows of Jeff’s apartment that look out into a constellation of windows – like little worlds into which you can gaze for a while. Yes, the film is incredibly voyeuristic, but the comfort of the film – and of living in this house for the next few weeks – is not voyeurism, but rather the feeling of having company while being captive (in Jeff’s case because of a broken leg, in mine a looming PhD deadline).
To read full essay link here to Crikey Weekender
About the author: Bethanie Blanchard is a Melbourne writer and literature PhD candidate at the University of Melbourne. Read more about Bethanie here or email her at liticism@gmail.com
Footnote: Crikey is a daily electronic news/opinion service. For a free trial subscription link here.
The sound of the guy downstairs playing his guitar keeps me company. Sometimes he stops and I know that we’re both procrastinating at the same time. There’s the couple who both read their iPads over late breakfast at the kitchen table, and the man with a life-size anatomical skeleton hanging at the window – possibly a med student, or just someone who has a rather macabre taste in interior design. Their daily routines give structure to my days. At night, I love to sit out there and see the different shades of light glowing from their windows.
Writing is such an incredibly solitary activity – a passive, quiet, often lonely thing, and so I’ve always needed to write by a window, to gaze out at something, without ever really looking, while I’m trying to order my thoughts or gain some sort of inspiration. A blank wall cannot provide the same effect, nor can a desk facing inwards to a room or an office – the writer’s block that strikes me is crippling.
Perhaps because of this, my favourite film has always been Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window. Weirdly, for a plot that involves a rather horrific murder, I’ve always found something comforting about it. The sort of film you put on when you’re sick or lonely or heartbroken. It’s the set-up: the wide bay windows of Jeff’s apartment that look out into a constellation of windows – like little worlds into which you can gaze for a while. Yes, the film is incredibly voyeuristic, but the comfort of the film – and of living in this house for the next few weeks – is not voyeurism, but rather the feeling of having company while being captive (in Jeff’s case because of a broken leg, in mine a looming PhD deadline).
To read full essay link here to Crikey Weekender
About the author: Bethanie Blanchard is a Melbourne writer and literature PhD candidate at the University of Melbourne. Read more about Bethanie here or email her at liticism@gmail.com
Footnote: Crikey is a daily electronic news/opinion service. For a free trial subscription link here.
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