Wow! I looked up the title - "love of childhood." Maybe a remembrance of a childhood kitchen? I went to your link about him - very interesting. I like his idea, but not so much the dirty sink, etc. Maybe it is less a remembrance than someone going back to a childhood kitchen after someone else has bought the place, and seeing it all dirty and dingy and not alive with family and life anymore? I do make up stories about your "windows" Margaretha. :<)
I too was wondering about the title, making up answers. Sometimes a title you don't quite understand makes a picture more interesting. That kitchen certainly is dingy - but the light is lovely, and the light in a room can make all the difference. Once when I was very ill, I believe that it was how the light sifted through the window curtains (myggtjäll = Swedish lace) that kept me going. Margaretha
Embrace change even if you want to run from it. Ralph Shrader
stugkatt at yahoo dot com
It is easier to say what and who I'm not. — I'm not my profession — I'm not my salay — I'm not my age — I'm not my illness — I'm not my civil status So who am I? — a person just the right size and age — an untidy pedant — a conservative radical And what do I do? — weave — read — listen to music, classical preferably baroque
Wow! I looked up the title - "love of childhood." Maybe a remembrance of a childhood kitchen? I went to your link about him - very interesting. I like his idea, but not so much the dirty sink, etc. Maybe it is less a remembrance than someone going back to a childhood kitchen after someone else has bought the place, and seeing it all dirty and dingy and not alive with family and life anymore? I do make up stories about your "windows" Margaretha. :<)
SvaraRaderaI too was wondering about the title, making up answers. Sometimes a title you don't quite understand makes a picture more interesting. That kitchen certainly is dingy - but the light is lovely, and the light in a room can make all the difference.
SvaraRaderaOnce when I was very ill, I believe that it was how the light sifted through the window curtains (myggtjäll = Swedish lace) that kept me going.
Margaretha