Honestly, who really thinks about a dresser?
When purchasing a bedroom set it is the size of the bed and comfort of the mattress that are of great importance. The dresser is simply a big box that holds copious amounts of clothes, most of which we never wear. The dresser does a good job holding up a mirror.
There was a lot of time to think about the design and spatial requirements of the cabin I now call home. The plan was to live smaller and with less stuff. Less stuff requires less space, including less closet space. Rather than have larger closets that burned up perfectly good floor area, two smaller clothes closets were built into otherwise unusable nooks facing each other. There was enough space in between for a small dresser. A local antique shop had a smallish dresser with a broken drawer and a horrible paint job that was hidden away in a corner. It was the perfect size.
Normally the purveyor of antiques or junk can put the most positive spin on the most worthless wares. But she incredulously replied, “That?” upon my inquiry.
I asked if it could be purchased then stored onsite. There was no room inside the cabin during construction and it would certainly meet its demise stored outside, no matter how well covered. “Sorry”, she replied.
For eight out of ten years a while back, I had carted around my clothing and minimal necessary possessions in plastic totes while chasing the almighty buck all across North America. That storage habit would have to continue a little longer as the work on the cabin progressed, and my clothing would continue to stink like cheap plastic.
It seemed a worthy gamble that nobody would ever want that little dresser. But much to my surprise and dismay, about a week before finally being ready to make the purchase, somebody else spied the forlorn treasure and it was gone.
The newly manufactured dressers available were much too large to fit within the constructed space, and it looked like the future held only the promise of my clothes continuing to stink like cheap plastic.
The story about Roland Reisly, the last living client to personally commission Frank Lloyd Wright to build a home while the famed architect was still alive has recently been making the rounds.
Mr. Reisly has been living in a Wright designed home since 1951 and partially attributes his long and happy life with simply being surrounded by beauty. And without question, he certainly lives in a beautiful home placed within a beautiful setting.
The furniture and fixtures within are unique and custom designed. Every individual element down to the most minute detail is an integral part of the larger whole. That resultant larger whole is an elegantly shaped and pleasingly proportioned home, adorned with visual delights. It is constructed of an amalgam of sturdy wood, rugged local stone, and sleek glass, all existing in harmony within a natural setting.
The home seems to have organically sprouted from then sprawled out upon the landscape.
I do not recall hearing of Mr. Reisly or his comments previously, but like most others on Planet Earth am familiar with Frank Lloyd Wright and can readily identify his work or similar works either plagiarized from or inspired by him. But the Wright concept of being surrounded by beauty must have been present during that time to think. Or perhaps by happy accident, maybe that time to think simply was put to good use.
There was time to imagine a future; lying in bed and gazing in awe through one window at a distant galaxy splashed across the dark night sky and out another window at the dancing Aurora Borealis. Time to imagine stark monochromatic walls adorned with a copious number of windows and accented by warm amber cedar ceilings. Time to imagine a home that both jauntily bursts forth out of the landscape while simultaneously and harmoniously coexisting within that same landscape.
Now, Frank Lloyd Wright I ain’t. My little mind’s eye visions incorporated into the little cabin are just that, mine and are strictly for my own consumption. You will never see my little cabin reaping accolades or gracing the pages of a glossy coffee table book. But just like Frank Lloyd Wright’s last living client, I am surrounded by beauty.
I am surrounded by my perceived beauty of the cabin, the beauty of views that blur the concept of inside and outside, the beauty of the Great Northwoods that envelopes both the cabin and my very existence. The beauty of creating something with help from family and friends but mostly with my own two hands.
My sister helped someone move out of their home and was gifted a nearly cast-off dresser. She gifted it to me, and it was given a fresh coat of paint. While not the precisely the same size as the long-lost dresser, it fits neatly into the constructed space.
I see the beauty of a freshly painted dresser getting a second chance in life rather than being cast into a dumpster. The permanence of my clothes stored within that dresser and not a plastic tote. The beauty of an end of one era and the beginning of another.
And the hope that there is never the need to live out of a plastic tote again.
The Unexpected Minimalist 