Sunday, May 8, 2011
My Bathroom (1 of 2)
I was thinking the other day that writing a blog is like keeping a diary and then leaving it on a bus. Who knows who's going to read it or why. I wonder if exhibitionism stems from a similar imperative. Blogs are much more work than you'd think. Am I writing this for myself, or for invisible strangers. And why will 140 of them visit me on one day and only 29 on the next? These are deep thoughts, by John. Anyway, while out on horseback this afternoon and wondering what to write about, I suddenly hit on the idea of my bathroom. There are nine bathrooms at Daheim, and while mine is not the best in the house - that honor goes to a facility adjoining the second master bedroom - it's pretty great.
Here's a closer look at the sink, which we hauled here from Tuxedo Park back in 1982. I found it in the basement of our house on Tower Hill, apparently stored there when that master bathroom was renovated with a boxy vanity and hideous modern swimming pool green tiles. The black thingummies under the sink in this view are electrical tape ties that hold heat tape to the exposed water pipes. Fields of sharp edged white wall and floor tiles - no difference between them - are decorated with blue tiles bearing foliate forms and garlands of flowers in relief.
I love my pedestal sink. It is a work of art.
This is one of the corner brackets supporting - visually, anyway - the medicine cabinet. There were once three mirrored doors on the cabinet but one went missing, I'll bet during the Leary years. Tim Leary and his League for Spiritual Discovery (LSD, get it?) used to occupy my house in the 1960s. About ten percent of the dainty carving on the medicine cabinet is missing, but it's so ornate few people notice.
In spite of my obsession for period details, I haven't felt much need to install another high tank toilet to replace one long gone. The facsimile high tanks they sell today, by the way, look only somewhat like the originals. The dark wood panel on the wall above my throne was the mount for the old tank.
Posted by John Foreman at 1:25 PM
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Superb message, I seriously count on updates from you.ReplyDelete
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There was a virtually identical sink in the master bathroom of my grandparent's house, and I still don't believe that when that house was torn down I didn't make an effort to save the sink for myself. Oh well. I was young.ReplyDelete
Just to let you know that I came upon your blog and enjoyed reading it . One just gets blown ed away by by how great the craftsmanship used to be .ReplyDelete
I was heartbroken to learn of John’s death. Thankfully his words and images live on.ReplyDelete