09/09/2016
THE TASTE OF MATERIALS
Finn’s house was beautiful, a converted barn he’d spent three years redesigning, keeping only the old planks of wood, dark with the patina of age. The front of the house retained the original barn shape. The back, though, was open, like a dollhouse, all clad in glass, with sliding doors framed in bronze. From the front door you could see out the back.
“I had no idea you were this talented,” I said to him in genuine surprise as he led me in.
The first floor was an open plan with a dining area containing a long rippled table that could seat twenty and a living area with deep-cushioned sofas. The floors were bare and gleaming and there was a wall of bookshelves stacked neatly with books, constructed from the same dark, aged wood as the floor. Everything was orderly, from the dishes on the shelves above the sink to the pens, papers, tape dispenser, stapler, and other items lined up on the desk. I guessed the impossible neatness and order shouldn’t have surprised me. He was an architect, after all. But I’d never been in a man’s homes at all, really.
This one was so well thought out that every sight offered something else that was visually arresting, and I wandered through the space in awe. The energy of the house was happy, as though many generations of children had been born under its roof, though it was technically only a few years old. I couldn’t imagine anyone possessing such a gift, one that allowed them to create a home like this.
Danielle Ganek
The summer we read Gatsby