I have always sensed that there is more to a house then stone, board and paint. As I pass, I sometimes wonder how the lives of its inhabitants are shaped by its construction. The trauma of a misplace shelf manifesting itself years later with untold distr on.
Some houses seem to have a life of its own. Popping out new rooms like offspring. Silent passions exuding from between its boards. The profound sadness of the ruptured windows and peeled maquillage of the abandoned.
Lynn's house seems a happy house. A house that embraces you with its warmth as you cross the threshold. A house with the aroma of its well scrubbed inhabitants. There is a sense that the battles fought here are of kittens tumbling in joy rather then tigers locked in terrible combat.
The painting of Lynn's house, now hangs in Lynn's' house. It hangs in a place where sun illuminates it at the very same time of day that is depicted in the painting.
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