The light here is noticeably clear and bright as is the air, if air can actually be described as bright, different none the less once arriving by train. The clustering of homes seem to shelter themselves from the saltiness the breezes toss upon their skins, leaving untreated woods well worn. Long Beach, New York is a borough of ages, weathered and reborn: an interaction between humankind and nature.
To create a home here is like any other, layers of memories and materials, though the proximity of the Atlantic Ocean brings its own particular influence. Homes, no matter their location are all vessels, containing stories of its occupants and those who pass through. What’s collected may seem trivial to the on looker’s eye, speaks volumes if one were to pause and listen, noticing the nuanced air they offer.
History has a way of speaking, ghosting in a room of other voices. Its visual language has a noticeable patina, a presence no matter stick or gold. Much like location, history changes, both in mind and material. It is here, that time is a layered document of outside and inside, emotion and memory.
Positioned throughout these spaces are objects of value, not necessary of monetary, but of memory. Evidences of the hand can be seen by way of art and the well crafted, represented by way of regions, utility and visual splendor. Objects created by person and nature sit side by side, evoking a mood of creative inspiration and calm, all within a shell of crisp ethereal white, mimicking the skies that surround.
Though clustered, this home is a place of its own. A shelter from the outside world that celebrates the world. An homage to passing time and life well lived, well nourished.