ABSTRACT REALITY IN MOMENTS OF SANITY
by Ethel Carvalho
Do you ever spend an hour soaking in the tub,
day-dreaming that your somewhere rather more exotic
than the bathroom? As the steam mists up the mirror,
do you imagine steamy scenes of a different sort, amid
the lush vegetation of an African jungle? Or does your
fantasy envelope you in the heady oriental scents of a
Turkish bath? Perhaps, as the shower pummels you awake
in the morning, you picture yourself under the crystal
clear cascade of an invigorating waterfall. Or are you
really in the American Rockies, racing the rapids on a
thrilling white water rafting adventure? Now whatever
your fantasy, and with so many things changing
everyday, it�s a relief to have a place where you can
relax, take a deep breath, and not worry about keeping
up, and that�s why a man travels the world over in
search of what he needs, and returns home to find it.
The moment you step inside, the easy elegance is like
a breath of fresh air. The hustle of the world�s
busiest airport seems a million miles away� the
difference is genuine�slumbering back to nature!!!
The complete retreat�the idea of bedrooms as a private
sanctuary continues to gain ground and for good
reason- in a busy world, they�re an oases of calm, and
with its traditional material, and built in furniture,
the spacious bedrooms and living area are designed
with a sense of security in mind, creating a minimal
look with modern materials that�s totally classic.
Leafy green climbers and pots full of colorful plants,
provide a lively rustic view from the kitchen window.
It�s not easy being green, but the scenes so lovely,
must have been gazed upon by angles in their flight.
�Clean up, clear out, and relax��is a simple rule to
reorganizing your life. You say, �Alright, come on,
seduce me�. If you just want to be a heavenly body, on
a white sandy beach, with warm blue water lapping at
your toes, the sun reaching down into your soul, and
the comfort of your home close by, its sheer delight.
The pressures of everyday life seem a million miles in
the revitalizing surrounding of your peaceful
solitude. Quality is a right, not a privilege. You can
feel the strain melt away, inch by inch as you walk
in, sink into a bubbling Jacuzzi, slip delicious fruit
juices, or invigorate your skin with a deep-cleansing
body-wrap. The mood of the century is taking shape.
What emerges as a spirit of the decade, is a sense of
harmony-with you, your family, and nature. Free time
is at a premium, but you make a point of getting away
for the weekends motoring in the country, wearing
clothes you feel comfortable in, and enjoying life at
a different pace.
To be absolutely serious, the different stylized
logos, seen at regular eat-out intervals, is not a
symbol that arouses much feeling one way or another,
in most of us. Neither is the strange Happy Easter
man, an open-mouthed figure that seems to be ticking
the back of its own throat really anything to make you
choke on your all-day breakfast. A look that was, is,
and always will be, a symbol of unending happiness�why
wait for a change in scenery, when you can make your
own? Go beyond the veil, and dream on in style with
serenity candles, that is luminous, sparkling, and
your mom even stops crying�you see, love does conquer
it all!!! Drop the formalities and go for the relaxed
approach. There is a Celtic belief that the souls of
the good spend eternity in the peace of the Western
Isles. Well, I wouldn�t want to argue on that one now,
would I? But the choices are yours. Our bodies are
soft and we need to live with soft things-not
physically, but for the peace of mind that comes with
living in a gentle environment. At night you look out
the window, and you realize how isolated the house is.
All you can see is the flashing of the lighthouse far
away, and the stars. Otherwise it�s completely black
and quite, except where the wind blows right across
the land and howls around you. Or where the owl hoots,
or in the early morning when the birds start up -
that�s terrible-lovely noise. But, there is something
rather cheering about the domestic disorder of our
fellow primates. Appearances can be deceptive. How
often have you wondered how well some of your closest
friends or neighbors are really coping, or indeed your
own relatives? Even if you did know, trying to help
them face change in later life can be difficult.
It�s a relief to find that just for a change, it is
rather less than perfect. Nobody goes anywhere with an
open mind. We all build up a view of everything, from
people to places, on scant information before later
and fuller knowledge. Life runs far more smoothly,
when the wheels of social diplomacy are well oiled and
some people don�t mind a conversational clash at a
dinner party. Some even act as if they have been
expressly invited to spice up the tempo with a
confrontation. Personally, I find the working week
demanding enough without verbal fisticuffs intruding
on what should be a pleasantly convivial Saturday
evening. So I could have done without my colleague
going too far over the spare ribs.
A fellow guest was extolling the virtues of boarding
school, which he pronounced would teach his son to get
on with �absolutely everybody�. A few heads nodded in
agreement, but down the table my colleague�s voice
boomed in bafflement, �who on earth would want to get
on with everybody?� The candles in the company
spluttered. Back at the office, I reproved my
colleague for his untimely bluntness. Why can�t he
heed Oscar Wilde�s adage, that it�s absurd to divide
people into good or bad. �People are either charming
or tedious� is the topic, which leads us into a long
running argument concerning the virtues of candor
versus etiquette. His position is quite simply that
there is nothing that cannot be said. He judges it
healthy to be outspoken.
Operating in a tough and challenging industry, he
doesn�t expect or desire to be a �universal buddy�. He
prefers to be loved by a handful of real friends, than
slapped on the back by scores. Social diplomacy makes
sense to me. This is not to say that I wouldn�t snap
at the local guard, who tells me that only first class
passengers can eat in the restaurant car (do second
class travelers come in with a diminished appetite?)
or fight a fierce corner, if I feel myself or someone
I care about has been wronged. We live in increasingly
aggressive times, and so, if I must, I can retort just
as sharply as the next woman. But, though it may seem
feeble, I dread initiating offence or hurting
feelings. Why are some people better at getting on
with their fellows than others? Why are some of us
infinitely careful to smile and hail a passing
acquaintance in the street while others merely grant
or pass by without acknowledgement? What is the �X�
factor that enables one manager to solicit your
agreement to produce an overnight rush report, while
another prompts you to stick two fingers up her
retreating back? Insensitivity to the world around us
is a truly curious failing. After all most people
would agree that it is better to be affable, than
aloof. But although it costs nothing to be gracious
and considerate, the world still has its quota of
people who lack (to borrow medical parlance) the
bedside manner of everyday life. Once in a while,
there comes a moment when something clicks, when
hearts and minds meet, when the chemistry is right�and
a golden age is born. Such moments create stars,
unforgettable teams, legends, and life long
attachments, and are worth celebrating from the fact
that, coming up with the right idea at the right time
is very significant and magical. It is a glorious
time-very special, unforgettable, and unrepeatable.
That�s not to say that one expects to make the best
mates of the world, his wife and the archly unhelpful
assistant in the travel agents. We�re not talking
about making people like us on an intimate friendship
basis. We�re talking about managing not to make them
dislike us or raise their hackles, or may be even
about sweetening someone else�s day in a passing
encounter, rather than fueling the friction.
It�s working your way out of a tight corner. It makes
sense to oil the wheels of society by being charming
rather than being churlish. There is sometimes
something quite magical about all of this. For
instance, simple gestures such as sending a card to
say you enjoyed meeting someone for the first time, or
telling the cab driver that his short cut�s done you a
huge favor, will work wonders for good relations.
Finding something positive to say to your child�s head
teacher before launching into your complaint about
school dinners, makes her more likely to pay you heed.
Now and again there is a day when the sunshine belongs
to you.
Short circuiting a sales assistant�s aggressive manner
by smiling and saying,� thank you so much for your
help and I�m sorry you seem to be having a bad day�
could just make her think twice before re-cycling her
infectious hostility to other customers. A leading
novelist and a mother of four, says, �Networking is a
vital aspect of life that extends way beyond the work
place. If mother�s had to pay for what we get in terms
of everyday barter from one another-child care, lifts,
teas, treats, and school runs, the cost would run into
hundreds. But you need to be nice to fit into the
mother�s network, because if you�re not easy to get on
with, people will simply back off and refuse to be
drawn into your net. One psychologist points out that
we learn in the first few months of life that survival
depends on interacting successfully with other people
to elicit their care. But although everyone is born
with a seed of social skill, it looks as if later
childhood experience determines how fully it generates
and flowers.
If you were raised in a house where there was little
intimacy and praise, it is not surprising if you
habitually deliver a snub when a kindness would be
more appropriate. If you grew up as an only or by a
long way the oldest child in the family, you may well
have developed a very strong need to reach out and
make contact with other children simply because there
were none to play with at home. You picked up the
basic skills of social engagement-being cheerful,
helpful, making others feel wanted almost
unconsciously because they were necessary and
rewarding. Children from a large family are often less
bothered about engaging outsiders. They don�t need the
social input quite so much and sometimes develop a
siege mentally that seems to exclude outsiders.
Parents have, perhaps, an even greater position that
family position on a child�s socializing style. �The
greatest favor parents can bestow� says a renowned
clinical psychologist, �is to provide a home that is
open to friends and a good deal of social activity,
allowing them to grow up naturally confident in the
company of other adults, picking up habits of
consideration, conversation, and hospitality, along
with reading, writing, and table manners.� Such
children generally regard outsiders as people who
could well enhance their lives, rather than fearful
nuisances, who are best, disregarded or skirted around
with minimum contact like drunks or public transport.
By detaching people from their normal surroundings and
responsibilities, exercising them, relaxing them, and
encouraging them to think and talk about themselves,
in a beautiful and luxurious environment, the aim is
to send people home feeling not only pampered, but
equipped if desired, with patterns for change towards
a healthier style of life. But it is wrong for a
parent to instill such excessive confidence, that the
child doesn�t feel that he has to make the least
effort to endear, and grow up fully expecting the rest
of the world to appreciate him as much as his parents
did. We�ve all encountered annoying social egocentrics
who assume they are the center of your world as well
as their own. You can see their embryo in the 10 �
year old child who always gets her own way when she
tugs impatiently at her mother�s coat sleeve to stop
her chatting in the high street, �come on Mum! I want
to go home! Now!� it�s arguable, therefore that a
little insecurity is more socially motivated than a
lot of confidence.
Another mother of four owns she�d love to be cool
about being socially accepted but admits, � I�m
obviously a very insecure person, and because I can�t
bear to discover we�ve not been asked to a party. This
baffles my husband, who is not exactly a social
butterfly. And doesn�t understand why I care, when
I�ve said that I don�t much like the hostess anyway.
The logic of not liking her but still hating the
thought of not being invited to her house completely
baffles him.� (And) work is necessary because even if
you�re outgoing and affable, you cant always take it
for granted that the world will purr at your approach.
I have off-days � and I�m sure most people do � when
every shop � assistant, phone caller, and bank teller
sets my teeth on edge. I catch myself taking against
someone on first acquaintance because of a frown, a
set of tips or an off-hand comment. Or I drive through
our village so pre-occupied that, later, two
acquaintances rib me for failing to return their hand
waves. At such moments, it seems to me important to
check the downward spiral misanthropy before it gets
out of hand. I find myself explaining to the
unrequited wavers that I wasn�t being a �snooty
bitch�, but I�ve been feeling a bit distracted
actually, what with having suffered a minor burglary,
lost a favorite brooch, and worrying about a friends
test result from the hospital. Pondering my own
stress-induced crosspatches reminds me that others,
off-course, and may have equally legitimate and
invisible excuses for theirs.
The woman I dismissed as an incurable cow could be
exactly that. But isn�t it more likely she is having
an off day too fearing for her job, perhaps, or
fretting about her child�s prolonged sore throat?
English social mores don�t encourage her to spill her
anxieties, to all corners, so I easily misconstrue her
abstracted, pinched manners as unfriendliness. Given
another chance or other circumstances, we might find
the common ground that often draws strangers into
compatibility (�so you had a Russian grandmother
too?�) giving her the benefit of the doubt, I should
therefore put a lid in my Pandora�s Box of
indifference and ill-will and conclude that she needs
the social equivalent of tender loving care as much as
I do. The world, after all, would be a sourer place,
if we all dumped affability and presented our
grouchiest selves in the thousands of passing social
encounters we have every year. Life throws quite
enough of aggravations without you or me gumming up
the works with our temperamental tuppenny-worth.
Surely then it is better to be mellow because it
doesn�t get anymore free range than this out there and
on the edge.
I�m stuck with exhilaration nonetheless. Put enough
people in a sufficiently capacious room and they raise
a din that makes you think of graves opening on
Judgment Day. A mist seems to settle over them as
well, a shimmer or a mirage that may just be an effect
of body heat, but which is dangerously suggestive of a
communal halo. Then again it may simply be a cigar
smoke, for no dainty rules of consideration for the
sensitivities of others obtain here; you smoke, you
sing, you elbow, you embrace. May this be what eating
and drinking should be, an activity so dense and
cramped and fleshy, that you don�t have the space to
distinguish your own individuality and cannot tell
whether it�s your stomach you�re feeding or someone
else�s.
Sometimes, someone will come up with an idea that is
so blindingly, rightly obvious, that it knocks you off
your chair. Yet one of art�s functions is to remind us
gently of what, if we stop to think about it for a
moment, we were missing all along, but failed to
realize it. But, pullover for a moment and consider
what has disappeared. A photographic exhibition of a
British �lay-by� for instance, may sound like as if
someone had gone too far this time, to bring back
memories. To a certain extent, �lay-by� was always
something that happened to other people. This informal
stopping place possibly with a caf�, for people who
haven�t got to, where they were going, is what is
intriguing. It�s about pure travel, not the �before�
or the �after�, but the �during�. It is the area of
life where, in America, the road movies were invented.
The enigmatic relationship between the British and
their cars has no equal, elsewhere in the world. The
French have their frites-stops, but there you drink
alcohol, so the whole culture is different. The
American diner is also quite a separate thing. Only in
Britain, it seems do they value so greatly eating in
physical proximity to their cars; nobody really knows
why, but only they choose to eat at fold-up camping
tables in the lay-by or the car park. It isn�t a
phenomenon nor is this just a working class thing �
picnics eaten from the boot of a Rolls Royce, has been
a long-standing feature. However, the most
extraordinary location is someone�s face, and what�s
happening in it. That�s the stuff of drama and it
doesn�t change, does it? No matter how nostalgic this
may sound, it is not quite like that.
It�s about a bygone era, but you are looking at
something you know is contemporary � contemporary but
which does not really exist. The �lay-by ahead� sign
is vanishing and if the road planners can help it will
soon be completely extinct.
The metropolitan speediness of the motorways service
area and the creeping homogeneity of the Little Chefs
and Happy Easters, were not something the public
demanded, but its what they got anyway. These are
miniscule signs of the militant reaction to the
attacks on a pleasant tradition. It isn�t just some
fluke here, that I�m collecting history. This is
worldwide history, and half of it is in the city
dumps. We couldn�t claim to have reached the final
frontier�but on our voyage of discovery, we proudly
announce the introduction of bold directions, informal
harmony, and perfect individuality, precisely
distinctive, freedom of choice and beyond. You�re
looking at a revolution in indulgence, and varieties
to keep you looking good, because it�s what on the
inside that counts. A bountiful selection helps with
the right choice, rather than starting from scratch.
The imaginative creative existence of puritanical
abstraction of dramatically sparse all-white relief,
and coolly intersecting colored rectangles, is a
feature of modernism that appeals to put it at the
service of tradition. The deep thrill of revolution or
the invention of new modernist subject matter, or
however abstract art becomes, it is still a
development of the first still-life�s, or a glorious
landscape. Take for instance, a beautiful painting of
a blue bowl in front of a mirror, is full of deep
shadows into which a painter squints to inspect the
intersection between the round edge of the bowl and
the square frame of the mirror. Such intersections
continue to be admired till the end.
It�s a source of some hilarity, I might almost say,
derision to my stylish friends that I�m writing for
the style section � nobody, they tell me is less
stylish than me. I counter by remarking stiffly, that
there is such a thing as �literary� style, you know,
but they are right in their limited way � I don�t read
interior design magazines or couldn�t tell whether
swags or ruffles are in. for instance, a friend of
mine frightened me by saying, �distemper is black�. It
turned out she didn�t mean the dog disease, but the
flaky wall paint that comes off on your hands. She�s
redoing her country cottage in what she calls, �an
authentic `50�s rural look�, which apparently means
ordering distemper from the approved range of colors,
waiting for it to be freshly mixed, then slapping it
on with a special wide brush. It is not true that you
have to mix it up with pig�s urine. Upholstery is
�natural, neutral, oatmeal, even plaids are out, and
there is no question of ruffles or swags�, she added.
�I want to get those really skimpy sort of unlined
pre-war curtains that stop just above the window sill
and let in the light�. I asked, � Will you have those
genuine`50�s coils of fly paper hanging from the
ceiling, preferably just above the table where you eat
breakfast?� She looked thoughtful.
Another stylish friend urged me to �think driftwood�,
and gave me a very �inspirational� article from an
interior design magazine, entitled �Some like it Hut�.
This was a fantastic essay about an artist�s potting
shed in North Holland, where the chief decorative
features consisted of some acorns and rusty bits of
iron, a greased-covered burner, and several
disintegrated matchboxes. The bathroom was well. When
I objected that I couldn�t really see myself washing
in a bucket or heating stones on the stove, to take to
bed, my friend looked at me pityingly and said, �Well,
obviously, you adapt�. I think after due
consideration, we shall paint the drawing room yellow
as usual. Inspiration of course!
Gossip is a funny stuff, we all know what it is, but
I�ve yet to hear a workable definition; it�s the
reverting bits that live between news and fiction. In
private, it�s the things I wouldn�t say to your face.
In print it�s what is supposed to separate he gutter
from the quality. Tabloids have gossip columns,
broadsheets have diaries, and only diary editors seem
to be able to tell the difference. Very few of us are
as confident in our tastes, or as wide-ranging. The
book is woven out of the complex relationship between
freedom and restriction, the world within and the
world without. Five thousand miles from home,
claustrophobic and hunkered down in the middle of a
milling crowd; I�m stuffing Kleenex in my ears, to
escape the roaring music � the Anthem of the Moment.
Ethel Carvalho
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