Thick Description - A True Family Room

A True Family Room

            If Grandma and Grandpa ever replace the burnt-orange shag carpet in here, I fear I shall no longer recognize the place.  This carpet has been the stage on which so many of my life’s memories have played out.  It is here that my cousins and I played as babies while our young parents watched and giggled on a Sunday afternoon.  It is on this carpet that countless crumbs have fallen from the mouth or plate of a clumsy grandchild as they sit cross-legged eating from a paper plate that teeters on the edge of the low glass table.  In more recent years, these spills have been thoroughly “vacuumed” by my Uncle John’s west inland terriers Ikea and Cinco.  At this moment the two dogs are calmly pacing the floor at my feet.  They occasionally come to me looking for a handout of some kind, having inspected the carpet already.

            The carpet is not the only physical reminder of family gatherings, nor is it the only design element that hearkens back to the 1980s.  A mild coral-colored wallpaper wraps itself around the room, with small blue and muted-red flower stencils in neat rows.  The drapes over the bay windows in the corner give the space an added elegance, especially in the evening when they diffuse the setting sun’s golden light over the room.  Situated in the corner is Grandma’s baby grand piano.  This instrument is a focal point of many family gatherings.  Many family members play and compose music, and we all sing.  At Christmastime we gather to re-create the nativity scene, with each grandchild being assigned a part.  Besides the traditional characters we take turns portraying cud-chewing oxen (the cud chewing is mandatory), the bright, smiling star of Bethlehem, and, with a little teamwork, the stable. 

            This space is a place for our individual stories to intertwine.  This frequent crossing of our paths has kept us all close.  Whether we gather to celebrate New Years Day, watch a football game or simply visit on a quiet Sunday afternoon, this room is our common link.  It is where we savor old memories and create new ones. 

            Now I sit here alone at night.  The piano makes no sound with nobody to play it.  The chairs and sofas sit vacant and undisturbed.  The carpet, as mentioned before, is free of crumbs.  There are no sounds of laughter or conversation.  However, just being here evokes in me feelings of familiarity and peace.  It is like a Temple, dedicated to the unity of our family.  I suppose that description may sound a bit odd, I mean, whoever heard of a Temple with burnt-orange shag carpet?

Artist’s Statement

At the beginning of this semester I moved in with my grandparents in order to be closer to campus.  I have begun to see the house in a more practical and functional way than I did as a young kid.  I have gotten familiar with spaces like the laundry room and the guest bathroom, hardly setting foot in the living room.  I pass it every day on the way to the kitchen, but never linger there.  I guess it could be because I’m busy and don’t have time to stop.

I did not need to puzzle long about why the living room is so special to me.  There is nothing mysterious about it, and my approach in my paper may be painfully obvious.  I associate the space and objects within it very strongly with the people I love.  The shag carpet is much older than I am, but its presence, however aesthetically outdated, is comforting and familiar to me.  The piano has been the scene of many “recitals” by grandkids eager to please Grandma.  Of course, Grandma has always been delighted to see her grandkids play.  These memories of these sorts of interactions hang thick in the air.

While sitting and observing the room, I could fill the room with people in my mind.  Uncle Steve walked across from the entryway to the kitchen.  Grandma and Grandpa sat on the loveseat, while Dad slept on the recliner.  Mom took her usual place at the piano bench, finishing each song with her signature flourish, much to the delight of all who are listening for it.  Cousin Jason and I huddled on the couch in bathrobes as our clothes dried after a rainy football game.  Aunt Johanne prepared the costumes for the nativity.  Every memory I have here is of family togetherness, and that is what makes it so unique and even sacred to me.