This calls to mind The Velveteen Rabbit, which is the pinnacle of children's books. The basic premise is that toys are made Real by the love of children, and once they've been made Real, they can never be made un-Real. I think that people are like that - despite the layers of gray paint, they were loved into existence and can never truly be made to be un-Real. I love your line, "I know people who don’t know that they’re made of real stuff."
Okay, on my first read, I thought this was my favorite part:
A home often used to be built by the inhabitants themselves, their hands shaping the actual brick and mortar. There was something of themselves in it, in the arched doorways and fireplaces and even impulsively painted kitchen cabinets. What was in the home was beautiful, but if you walked through it empty, you got a sense of what–or who–it was. I guess I’m thinking that we used to care about houses being real, that we wanted wood and stone and brick—not just because it was all we had, but because we knew what we had was good.
But I hadn’t finished reading yet.
Then I read:
The house had character because it was not perfect, because it didn’t put on a show. It asked to be accepted and inhabited as it was. I want to be like that. I want people to walk through me empty and know who I am, and know that I’m home that way. I want to treat other people like that’s true about them, too
🥹🙌🏼😭
I want people to “know that I’m home that way,” too. So beautiful.
Have you ever heard the song Little Boxes from the 70s? Here where I live in central Ohio I often think of that song driving past the rows and rows of cheaply made houses. Its profound and terribly catchy.
I love this illustration you make, the idea of people "walking through me empty".
Also makes me think of my last apartment by myself, a 5th wheel camper with a lot of character and quirks - it wasn't only a home, it was a friend.
Bricks, wood, straw, clay - its the best because its real, just like you say.
I find it interesting that Matt Fradd has been making substack notes about profanity, as most of the Catholics I follow on substack engage in pointless profanity. Maybe that makes them more real?
This calls to mind The Velveteen Rabbit, which is the pinnacle of children's books. The basic premise is that toys are made Real by the love of children, and once they've been made Real, they can never be made un-Real. I think that people are like that - despite the layers of gray paint, they were loved into existence and can never truly be made to be un-Real. I love your line, "I know people who don’t know that they’re made of real stuff."
Ah, yes! That book is profound.
Okay, on my first read, I thought this was my favorite part:
A home often used to be built by the inhabitants themselves, their hands shaping the actual brick and mortar. There was something of themselves in it, in the arched doorways and fireplaces and even impulsively painted kitchen cabinets. What was in the home was beautiful, but if you walked through it empty, you got a sense of what–or who–it was. I guess I’m thinking that we used to care about houses being real, that we wanted wood and stone and brick—not just because it was all we had, but because we knew what we had was good.
But I hadn’t finished reading yet.
Then I read:
The house had character because it was not perfect, because it didn’t put on a show. It asked to be accepted and inhabited as it was. I want to be like that. I want people to walk through me empty and know who I am, and know that I’m home that way. I want to treat other people like that’s true about them, too
🥹🙌🏼😭
I want people to “know that I’m home that way,” too. So beautiful.
Have you ever heard the song Little Boxes from the 70s? Here where I live in central Ohio I often think of that song driving past the rows and rows of cheaply made houses. Its profound and terribly catchy.
I love this illustration you make, the idea of people "walking through me empty".
Also makes me think of my last apartment by myself, a 5th wheel camper with a lot of character and quirks - it wasn't only a home, it was a friend.
Bricks, wood, straw, clay - its the best because its real, just like you say.
I haven't heard the song, looking it up now!
Love that--"it wasn't only a home, it was a friend."
I find it interesting that Matt Fradd has been making substack notes about profanity, as most of the Catholics I follow on substack engage in pointless profanity. Maybe that makes them more real?