Zoetrope's Restroom:
To understand the project you have to first know that my first childhood career ambition (which was briefly followed by 'psychologist' because of my fascination with Ludwig Von Drake - short lived) was to design amusement park attractions. This may have been abandoned once I was old enough to realize I would never master engineering skills due to my complete lack of mathematical competence (I took college algebra 2 1/2 times) but the overall daydreaming preoccupation never went away. To me, well-designed and high-conceptually themed and thoroughly executed amusement park attractions (and qeues) are as impressive as the most lauded installation art. I really wanted to work for Disney, amazed as I always have been in their art department and furnishing talents, though now they invest more effort into imagineering gift shops and have more or less abandoned their attractions to ruin and ill-maintenance.
My ambition to be a professional daydreamer is more or less what has inspired me to pursue a career in filmmaking - two sides of the same coin. So if I can't be an imagineer or installation artist I can still turn my bathroom into my controlled environment art-department experience.
The house I live in was built circa 1943 (or so I believe) and miraculously, the previous owners never gave the bathroom I use a Home Depot facelift (thus removing all charm and replacing it with blandness). I still have the original tile, shower fixtures, and the sink itself has two taps - one for hot water and one for cold - never seen something like that intact, have you? (yes, it's because it's ridiculously impractical but I can't bring myself to change it). My ongoing project is that I'm decorating the room from head to toe with items and furnishings that make it look as if the bathroom is stuck in 1946 - a one room time warp into the past. The walls have advertisements and lobby cards from 'Rope,' 'Cabinet of Dr. Caligary,' and '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.' To the right of the sink is a cubbyhole thingie I nailed in with space for antique ligiment bottles, razors, shaving brush, soap, archaic grooming items; all sorts. An extra cabinet to the left of the sink has a mirror covered almost entirely by faded, ghostly pictures of relatives I don't really have back in the 20's. The final, finishing touch I haven't put up yet (becuase it's the hardest feat of all) is installing above the toilet a CD player made to look like a radio from 1934. So next time we have a party, count on the radio being set for a loop of Glenn Miller or The Mercury Theatre broadcasts.
I hope I find another hobby soon - it's getting that every day I have off work (like today) I find myself driving off in the morning to hunt for old matchbooks and postcards. This antique shit is addictive. And not cheap. Better than being an alcoholic, yes, but I really need to find a hobby I don't have to save so much money for.
To understand the project you have to first know that my first childhood career ambition (which was briefly followed by 'psychologist' because of my fascination with Ludwig Von Drake - short lived) was to design amusement park attractions. This may have been abandoned once I was old enough to realize I would never master engineering skills due to my complete lack of mathematical competence (I took college algebra 2 1/2 times) but the overall daydreaming preoccupation never went away. To me, well-designed and high-conceptually themed and thoroughly executed amusement park attractions (and qeues) are as impressive as the most lauded installation art. I really wanted to work for Disney, amazed as I always have been in their art department and furnishing talents, though now they invest more effort into imagineering gift shops and have more or less abandoned their attractions to ruin and ill-maintenance.
My ambition to be a professional daydreamer is more or less what has inspired me to pursue a career in filmmaking - two sides of the same coin. So if I can't be an imagineer or installation artist I can still turn my bathroom into my controlled environment art-department experience.
The house I live in was built circa 1943 (or so I believe) and miraculously, the previous owners never gave the bathroom I use a Home Depot facelift (thus removing all charm and replacing it with blandness). I still have the original tile, shower fixtures, and the sink itself has two taps - one for hot water and one for cold - never seen something like that intact, have you? (yes, it's because it's ridiculously impractical but I can't bring myself to change it). My ongoing project is that I'm decorating the room from head to toe with items and furnishings that make it look as if the bathroom is stuck in 1946 - a one room time warp into the past. The walls have advertisements and lobby cards from 'Rope,' 'Cabinet of Dr. Caligary,' and '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.' To the right of the sink is a cubbyhole thingie I nailed in with space for antique ligiment bottles, razors, shaving brush, soap, archaic grooming items; all sorts. An extra cabinet to the left of the sink has a mirror covered almost entirely by faded, ghostly pictures of relatives I don't really have back in the 20's. The final, finishing touch I haven't put up yet (becuase it's the hardest feat of all) is installing above the toilet a CD player made to look like a radio from 1934. So next time we have a party, count on the radio being set for a loop of Glenn Miller or The Mercury Theatre broadcasts.
I hope I find another hobby soon - it's getting that every day I have off work (like today) I find myself driving off in the morning to hunt for old matchbooks and postcards. This antique shit is addictive. And not cheap. Better than being an alcoholic, yes, but I really need to find a hobby I don't have to save so much money for.
anja:
I have the sudden urge to do the time warp in what sounds like the loveliest bathroom of all time.