I move an old fan sitting on a table to the left of my armchair and perch it atop a stereo speaker. Now I have an unobstructed view the length of my place, all the way down to the bedroom. Shifting one object changes the entire room. Why does it take a year to realize a thing is in the way?
Before the fan-eureka moment, I’d been tidying up the pile of books, stamps, cards, and flotsam collecting on that table. Like pulling on a loose thread, I didn’t know what I was getting into.
Once the fan is gone, I see a bunch of other things that I’d rather not look at anymore. That’s how a crate of unsorted correspondence, playbills, postcards, tickets, bills, and photos transforms into an empty bin, ready to be filled with prospective new art fodder.
Two of four dining table chairs serve as shelves now. Why have four for a table set for one?
Moving the chairs makes me notice the wall full of boxed books across from where I eat. Looking at them reminds me of all the books I still need to sell. Not a thought that aids the digestive process. So an hour and several buckets of sweat later, the boxes are in the back hallway, under a sheet, and out of sight.
A major weight is lifted and it all started by moving a fan two feet over.