‘We protect ourselves, we barricade ourselves in. Doors stop and separate. The doors breaks space in two, splits it, prevents osmosis, imposes a partition. On one side, me and my place, the private, the domestic (a space overfilled with my possessions: my bed, my carpet, my table, my typewriter, my books, my odd copies of the Nouvelle Revue Francaise); on the other side, other people, the world, the public, politics. You can’t simply let yourself slide from on into the other, can’t pass from one to the other, neither in one direction nor the other. You have to have the password, have to cross the threshold, have to show your credentials, have to communicate, just as the prisoner communicates with the worlds outside.’.

Georges Perec: ‘Species of Spaces and Other Pieces’, Doors

The other day I thought of this

When travelling in a warm country, one might notice this: the doors of the folk are open. You see inside peoples homes. There, the children are watching television, someone cooks, folds sheets.

Imagine this: we take an appartment block or a sky scraper and split it into two. It would be like a doll house from the childhood times. You see the whole setting, you place events in front of your eyes like in the open field. (We’ll some houses have been split, by lightnings, bombings, artists like...and serial divorces).

Standing in the doorway sometimes makes me feel Split. Don't let the gold in? Would you please open the door?

Doorway

The other day i saw a man standing in a doorway. The room before him was full of people dancing. I saw him come and he came alone...I saw him leave and he left alone. I never saw him dancing though, he just stood there watching. He had a sad face. He didn't seem like he was going to cry but his demeanor spelled out melancholy, and loneliness. He probably wanted to dance, why would he come if he didn't wan't to dance? But he never went in. He just stood there, maybe hoping for someone to ask him to dance, perhaps building up courage. But he never went in, he just stood there and watched. Maybe he liked to just, but I don't think so. Who comes to a ball just to watch?
When he left I felt sad as well. I don't know why, but he reminded me of myself. Except I probably wouldn't have come. Does that make me sad? Depends. Depends on me, I guess...

opening_doors_reykjavik