I love hotels. I've been in a few. Quite a few. For me, it's like Naria. At the door, with the key in my hand, I'm standing at the door of the warbrobe, feel the brush of the coats on my face as I open.
Every room is a surprise. High ceilings, a hidden TV, chocolates on the table, a bed that comes out of a wall. I love rooms in Europe with coffee machines, kettles and sachets of fancy tea. As I open every door, drawer and curtain, I have my camera in hand. What's the view? What are the treats left behind in the bathroom - shampoos, cremes, a shower cap. Once there was a fluffy robe and slippers. Once I had a door that opened onto a pool I never used.
I've had the opposite - dorm rooms where only a towel seperated me and a couple having sex. Beds that sag and graffettied walls. But I still search each space, see what's left behind, see what's left for me.
I think this is why I used to like to move so much. New homes have that same magic. What will I paint the walls, where will I put my jackets and shoes and my couch. My mom says I'm her gypsy daughter. It's in my blood, the love of something new.
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