Offices, Rooms, Backrooms

Genius Loci readers:

I write you from the comfort of my new home office, a room I’ve renovated with my own two hands, a room that I’ve unintentionally been calling a “study” and a “studio.” I don’t know why I reach for these words instead of “office,” but I like to tell myself it is because I see it as a place where a certain kind of intellectual and creative work occurs, a place of dreaming as much as doing.

The French philosopher Gaston Bachelard wrote that the intimate spaces we inhabit like bedrooms and offices are charged, imaginative spaces that shape our thinking. Any space we live in “bears the essence of the notion of home,” and the chief function of the home is that it “shelters daydreaming,” “protects the dreamer,” and “allows one to dream in peace.” How a space earns that power is an essay I’m thinking about writing. But as I renovated this space, a few questions kept turning around in my head. When does an “office” become a “study” or a “studio”? Are there real distinctions we should be careful about when we use these words? Or is it just a pretense?

My study (ahem) still has all the hallmarks of a newly-moved-into space: unadorned walls, books and random items strewn about, the lingering scent of fresh paint and drywall dust. With enough time, most of these hallmarks will give way to more mature signs of life, to evidence of an inhabited place. As for now, I’m just happy to finally sit in a space I built myself to do The Work.

Renovation Reflections

Before some random room can become a place, it has to be project. And this one nearly broke me. I did very little reading (see below) and writing. The renovation took longer than I had planned (what doesn’t take longer than planned?). I had hoped to be done by the end of May and working in the room come June 1, but the demo/renovation was harder than I expected. Holding a panel of 5/8” drywall up against the ceiling with one hand while screwing it in with another was something I hadn’t imagined doing at the outset. How does one person do this? Using a makeshift frame that I built from scrap lumber (I named it “Nate” after my neighbor who failed to show up and help me one day), I was able to muscle a few panels of drywall into place and screw them in. Even with “Nate” helping me, it was hard work. The real Nate eventually showed up, thankfully, but the work was no easier… just faster.

The room is not done, technically. I had dreamed of hanging wallpaper and wainscoting, of laying a faux-wood flooring, but that would have delayed my move-in date even further (to say nothing of adding to an already ballooning expense). Instead, I painted the walls using leftover paint (a shade of white called “Jasmine Flower”), slapped down a cheap rug I found at an outlet store, and called it a wrap.

Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own

It’s been at least a couple decades since I’ve read Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. I came back to it, this time in audiobook form, as I renovated my own room. Originally a series of lectures given in 1928, the little book is worth a read no less because it’s a classic in feminist thought. It examines how women have been systemically (socially? culturally?) limited from participating in creative fields. Woolf makes the case that a woman needs financial independence and space, both physical and metaphorical, to do any kind of serious intellectual or creative work.

I understand the importance for women to have a room of their own, so-to-speak, especially considering their historical deprivation of it. But I also found Woolf’s premise generally holds for… everyone? Financial independence, whether that be from a man, an alienating day job, a master, an oppressive society, etc. ensures that one has the time and resources one needs to think and create. Having a dedicated, quiet space ensures that one can be comfortable to think freely and create without interruptions or external demands. When we quote Woolf’s famous line “a room of one’s own,” we often omit the second half of the sentence: “with a lock on the door.” One needs to be protected — physically, financially, metaphorically — from distractions that take one away from The Work.

I put a deadbolt on the door I hung, with the help of my father. This puzzled my wife. With a smile, I told her it is to protect my books from thieves. I don’t ever expect to lock myself in the room while I work, but doing so might be a helpful ritual or symbol.

There are many well-known examples where beautiful work has been created without spatial and financial luxuries. And, conversely, there are many well-known examples of luxuries and comforts killing creativity. But I believe Woolf’s general premise to be a good one in creating the general conditions for creative output.

Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi

At the end of the semester, a friend let me borrow Susanna Clarke’s 2020 novel Piranesi. She mentioned it was an easy read and that I’d be interested in it given my interests in journaling and note-taking. The story uses short journal entries written by the protagonist as the narrative device, whose brevity I’ve found helpful while reading at night and before bed.

The book — at least the first half — might be the book one looks to when studying “atmospheric” writing. The titular character, Piranesi, lives in a labyrinthine structure called “the House.” The House is endless. It has statues. Tides regularly flood rooms in the House. Only one other person lives in the House. There are birds too, and a few skeletons. That’s about it. It is incredible how much sense of place and atmosphere the author is able to conjure with so little. It is positively weird.

The book reveals itself to be a psychological thriller, maybe, or a work of pseudo-science fiction. I enjoyed the book, and especially Piranesi’s optimism, his journalistic spirit, and his ability to find beauty in an otherwise bleak, isolated space.

Backrooms (film)

I went to the cinema for the first time in three years and saw Backrooms, a psychological thriller/horror film. What drew me to the film was its showtime and its competition. I had a narrow window to watch a movie and it was either Backrooms or The Devil Wears Prada 2. It was an easy pick. I didn’t know much about the film, or its context, prior to watching it. But I’m glad I did.

The movie is a psychological thriller set in a liminal space, or a “non-place” as Marc Augé might call it. I won’t spoil the film for you, but the plot involves a furniture store owner finding a portal into an endless labyrinth, an eerie abandoned office building with early 1990s wallpaper, ceiling tiles, and fluorescent lighting. The early-’90s vibes are spot on, which is all the more impressive when we remember its creator Kane Parsons is so young he cannot even buy alcohol in the USA (per Wikipedia, he was born in 2005 and turns 21 on June 18).

Parsons’s work was “discovered” through his YouTube channel. I love stories like this one, which illustrate the power and importance of sharing your work online or with others in your field. His work is exceptional, it should be noted. Even his YouTube work exhibits a quality above and beyond those in his peer group. And there is a little luck involved. For every one Kane Parsons there is an entire swarm of other creative minds who get lost in the multitude. But you can’t make the basket if you don’t take a shot at it.

I’d be remiss not to mention that Backrooms has some interesting overlap with Piranesi: the labyrinth, the portal into the space, the relationship the space has with memory, the psychological and sci-fi elements, the sense-of-place being constructed with so little. They pair nicely together.

I sign off from a backroom of my own, this one small and safe and bolted from the inside, where I now turn my attention to The Work. I’m naming this space The Beehive as a metaphor for work and a kind of teeming energy.

Today — right now — is the first time I’ve been able to sit and work in this place. I don’t have all my items moved in and organized yet. But things will fall into place.

I leave you with some points I need to remember before embarking on any future renovation project. Maybe they’ll help you too:

1. Consider hiring someone else to do the work.
2. Demolition is just as difficult and transformative as building.
3. However long you think it will take to complete your project, multiply that figure by 2.
4. However much you think it will cost to complete your project, multiply that figure by 2.
5. You can learn how to do most things yourself.
6. But you’re not a pro, so don’t expect professional results (drywall mud, I’m looking at you).
7. Also but, you’re competent and able-bodied, and you can deliver results that are good enough.
8. If your father offers to help you (if anyone offers to help you really, but especially if your father does), don’t hesitate. Always say “yes.”
9. See point 1.

Thanks for reading and farewell,

JB