The Other Side Of The Line:
The origin of every room. Plywood’s first try.
”... Now I find it difficult to answer the phone without continuing. Most workdays are spent sitting in a growing pile of papers, power tools, and extension cords, editing recordings while I write emails and wait for the next call, taping another page to the wall when it comes, and deciding where the next belongs while listening to someone I've never met.
Once 5:00 hits, I open the door and lock it behind me.
I either walk or write.
In the morning I come back, use the key, step inside, and begin again.
Eventually it became clear that I needed to build new walls.
I needed plywood.
And my own saw.
This level of destruction wasn't sustainable.
The project spread beyond the bedroom.
Every room in the apartment became contaminated.
There was sawdust in the bed.
I painted the walls white.
Three separate times.
Only to cover them again.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped building a model of the room.
I looked around and realized I was already inside.”
(A Passage from Room Zero - Inheritance)