..is full of simply contained chaos. The turquoise, chalkily washed walls are covered in pictures they dance and jig across the space. None of them have carefully aligned hooks and clips..they all vie for attention like so many children asked for answers...hands up in the air waving to be noticed.
But that's how I like it! So many moments tumbling like shifting breezes.
The Kitchen 8th July 2012
Chalky walls, flake and blister,
enclosing the simmering heart of the home.
No formal lines of panels and cupboards
but a jumble of colour and surface.
Lacquered ash and scrubbed pine,
knobs of flamed walnut while sycamore ripples
neath the dark granite top with its little round sink.
Bright steel swan necks arch shining and polished.
Under the sill laden with plant pots
the butler’s sink on it’s painted brick piers.
A curve bellied plate rack holds lines of white platters,
from hand forged hooks dangle eggs in a basket.
The old mottled mirror, circled by photos
forms a door to the larder, dry goods stacked within.
Dogs lazily curl in their Aga side baskets
hiding the bones lying buried beneath them.
Next to the stove is an old hotel cooker
with an enamelled oven, far too generous to use
But its hob is wide with room for six saucepans,
there’s a shelf for the jars full of pasta and rice
with dark African pots all crammed with utensils.
A rope of fat purple garlic hangs by the onions
No one can tell they are hollow and empty
Too lovely to cut, to crush and to cook
They disappeared inside their pale skins
secretly.
