Password, Please

Today I had a pretty shitty day. I shan’t go into specifics, mostly because they’re pretty tiresome. But I mention this because as it so happens, it’s a useful segue to the image of the week:

Back in college I had a fascination with doors. It didn’t take a genius to see the Freudian foundations of it all: I had a significant wall built around me and doors – particularly very well shut doors – were highly relatable. I'm not talking about the kind with window panes so you can look inside. Nor the kind that look like they’re right out of Mayberry. “My” doors were always impenetrable. Somewhere in the garage are a couple of large artist portfolios. You know the kind, they look like a huge, flat suitcase and zip up on three sides. In one of those suitcases is a watercolor of a door I painted. It’s a monochrome, like this one, only in orange. It’s a wood door, like something you’d find in an old English garden, as an entrance to a shed or old cottage. But it’s boarded up. It has two heavy wooden planks across it, nailed to each side of the door. There’s no gettin’ through that bugger.

This door reminded me of that one. You can feel the weight of the steel. The solidity with which it is sealed. It’s a good door.

Today I want my doors.