River Brown

Today I took my new camera out for a walk in the neighborhood.

In addition to unconsciously focusing on a complementary color scheme, I began noticing facades.  Fronts with large succulents or cacti.

Some of the homes facing the park are contrarily both inviting and formidable looking at the same time. 

The contrast of sunlight coming out of large clouds set the tone for this opposing casual and comfortable yet unapproachable feel that I got.  I thought how imposing it is for some — this business of getting into the middle class really is — for anyone not born there. As one scraping her way back into the lower middle class, I think I can offer this thought.

The front, like when we dress up to go out, says how well-established, successful and happy we may be.  Remembering, was it Anne Lamott who wrote about walking in her neighborhood, looking in the windows and wondering if there were any happy families anywhere?

Would I be happier if I lived in this great, artistic home?  Does this domicile say the occupants have contributed greatly or are in some way more worthy than those who live behind modest doors? Appearances are the first thing the brain counts.

Mediterranean pink has caught my eye, but the soft sea foam green lingers on.  These front doors make statements, although I’m not sure I’m getting what the owner intends.  This door is the front entry to an enormous house. The curving stripes with a safety window for screening visitors feels like several centuries back.

I am sure that I will never be sophisticated or wealthy enough to be invited in.

I prefer the smaller homes, more to human scale, and approachable.  Well, to my scale, anyway.   The chill of this wintry day is eased by a glowing almost terra cotta paint scheme going crazy with clear sunshine.  I don’t know who lives here, but, if I had to knock on a door in this part of the neighborhood, like a sales solicitor, it would be this one over the above.

I enjoyed looking at everything through the lens (literally) of discovering what photos to take.  It was a process of tuning in to a mental layer, not verbal.  Noticing what compositions and colors drew my eye and then the thoughts followed.  Or did they?

Perhaps the photograph is the front porch for the thought.