thoughts on tiny

“That is the texture of the tree; there is the warm gentle.”

silver lining rainbow

Silver lining on a bleak early spring day.

Love press of the kitchen and furniture
beautifully grown tree
past month is.

Okay, from the poem above, you probably think this is going to be about how I’ve finished my cabinetry and built-ins, perhaps my whole house. Given that it’s been four months since my last post, this would be a reasonable assumption, but alas, this is not the case. In fact, I am amazed at how slow my progress has been as I approach my two-year mark from when I started building. In my defense, the first year I was living in one state and building in another when I could get time off work, and this last year has been beset by obstacles. However, it hasn’t been wasted time. Much has been learned and I am very happy with what has been accomplished. Though more battle-worn and less starry-eyed, I’m still as excited as ever about my tiny house. Good thing, eh?

In honor of this anniversary, this post is a look back on some of what I’ve learned these last few months about patience, potential, and perseverance. There are also some observations about nature, design, aging, as well as a look at some of the actual work – my electrical wiring, sealing the windows gaps, and starting to fluff wool for insulation – that I did manage to do. But first, because I’m never content with mere reporting of my building steps, I want to explain the origins of the poem above and the others included in this post:

Exquisite corpses & found poems

You’ve probably played the parlor game favored by the Surrealists called Exquisite Corpse, where one person begins a drawing on a folded piece of paper and passes it to the next person who adds to it not knowing what the first person drew. This continues until the last person adds their contribution and the paper is unfolded to see what this blind, collaborative creative process produced, quite often something nonsensical or, ahem, surreal.

The idea can be applied to other art forms as well. In film school, we would pass a camera around not knowing what the previous filmmakers had filmed, resulting in typically disjointed, but interesting, short films highlighting our very different cinematic styles. Written stories or poems can also be developed this way. It’s somewhat similar to the found poetry that grew out of the Dadaist movement. Like with the exquisite corpses, the appeal of found poetry, or found art, is the fresh insights or unexpected synchronicities that occur when artists portray commonplace objects or text in a new light.

In my case, my exquisite corpse/found poetry turned out to be an inadvertent collaboration between KitoBito, a small Japanese woodworking company specializing in kitchen designs; Google translator; and myself. As I was recuperating and unable to build (see below), I spent time researching my cabinet design. Through a random search, I ended up on KitoBito’s site and fell in love with their work. But beyond giving me inspiration for my own designs, I made a delightful discovery when I saw what random beauty and thoughtful word play was being generated by the Google translator!  Continue reading

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Live, love, loft

laying down the loft

Laying down the loft.  It must go down before it goes up.

Playing with verbs while attempting to be arty, I first titled this post without commas only to realize that “Live Love Loft” looked like an advertisement for a porn site. Ah, the power of punctuation!

Yesterday I wrote about the technical details of how I constructed my loft. Today’s post is a little more ethereal, an attempt to weave together my somewhat lofty (cough) thoughts during that slow, methodical process. And also to acknowledge Valentine’s Day in my own ambivalent way (whoever got to my site by searching for the words “valentine skunks” totally made my day!).

It all starts with the books I’m reading…

current reads

Put these on your reading list!

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On snails, stillness, symbiosis and siding

tiny grass dreaming

Definitely a case of gained in translation (hat tip to Lisa for this). I think I will make a plaque to hang on my tiny house door. Credit: Imgur.com

My friend Alison turned me on to this fascinating book, The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey, which I highly recommend. It represents all that I love about natural history and the power of observation and reflection. From her website:

In The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, Elisabeth Tova Bailey tells the inspiring and intimate story of her uncommon encounter with a Neohelix albolabris—a common forest snail. While an illness keeps her bedridden, Bailey watches as the snail takes up residence on her nightstand. Intrigued by its molluscan anatomy, cryptic defenses, clear decision making ability, hydraulic locomotion, and mysterious courtship activities, Bailey becomes an astute and amused observer, providing an engaging look into the curious life of this overlooked and underappreciated small animal. She comes to a greater understanding of the interconnections between species and her own human place in the natural world. The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating is a remarkable journey of survival and resilience, showing us how a small part of the natural world illuminates our own human existence.

“Bailey’s unexpected journey with a gastropod is a beautiful meditation on life, nature and time, and a poignant reminder of how the only measure of any of this is what we do with it.” —Tania Aebi, author of Maiden Voyage

“An exquisite meditation on the restorative connection between nature and humans . . . the writing is pristine and clear, with sentences of stunning lyrical beauty . . . Bailey’s slim book is as richly layered as the soil she lays down in the snail’s terrarium: loamy, potent, and regenerative.” —Huffington Post

 

A September of stillness

While I had nowhere near the same level of illness that Elisabeth had to contend with, I was completely drained after the events of the summer (see June, July and August posts). In early September, my parents left for most of the month, leaving me in charge of their house, the blueberry farm, an old creaky dog, and my uncle and aunt’s young cat that was recovering from a broken leg. Continue reading

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Tassajara, twigs & ten tiny thoughts

tassajara gate 2014

Entrance gate to Tassajara Zen Mountain Center. Zenshinji means “Zen Heart-Mind Temple”.

This is another epic post that interweaves several themes lately on my mind: visceral and spiritual design, pursuing passion, connectedness, wabi sabi, reflection, simplicity and, as always, art, nature and transformations. If you are designing or about to start construction on a tiny house, and are a hurried and pragmatic sort, skip down to the 10 tiny thoughts section; otherwise, come take a meditative stroll with me and see why Tassajara has been such a formative part of my tiny house journey…

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Telling our stories: radical acts of inspiration

journals

Naj Haus journals

To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.

~ Arundhati Roy, The Cost of Living

I’ve never kept a journal. There was that little red one with silver gilt lettering I got when I was seven or eight. I kept it around for awhile because I was fascinated that it had an actual lock with a key I could hide away. I scribbled a couple deep, earth-shattering secrets in it but couldn’t be bothered after that, leaving pages and pages accusingly blank. The key got lost. I made several attempts later in high school and college but just felt way too self-conscious writing about myself. I also lack discipline. I decided I was not born to write. Continue reading

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Why tiny housers should see the movie Tracks

tracks_banner-2

Tracks opens in the US late October/early November, 2014 (release date delayed).

I just got back from a whirlwind weekend in Atlanta for a friend’s cd release party (check out the band Roxie Watson: “When you have a group of women who are natural story-tellers, who soothe their aggressive musical chops with beautiful harmonies, temper their rock-n-roll sensibilities with an understanding of Appalachian tradition, and come off as a little bit Keith Richards, a little bit Bill Monroe, you get Roxie Watson.” – Lisa Love, Georgia Music Magazine.)

While I was there, I was telling them about how my journey to tiny houses was influenced by Robyn Davidson’s camel trek across Australia (On camels and tiny houses) and the funny coincidences that have arisen from that (On camels, cameras, courage and kindness). This morning, up early due to jetlag, I got to wondering when the movie based on her memoir, Tracks, was due to open. I found the trailer and was very happy to see that, for the most part, the scenes and images look very true to what I pictured in my mind’s eye upon reading the National Geographic article back in 1978 when I was thirteen, and my many times reading Robyn’s book:

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On becoming

warm within naj haus

looking out from within

Something strange happened on my most recent build stint. My house became real.

I had thought it was real before, as the walls went up and the roof sheathing and layers of foam went on, but I was wrong. It took up space but it only had the faintest of heartbeats, personality, soul. It had vacant eyes and a bald purple head. I loved it anyway.

But this time, with only a little prodding from me, it came into its own. It now has a full roof and windows and a crazy smile. It’s still without siding and a door, but now there is a definite sense of interior and exterior, a defiant assertion of self. I feel like my child has just sprouted a wispy beard and gotten a driver’s license; it’s both amazing and a little terrifying.

The last few weeks have been a time of big changes and a girding of loins. Of peering through the dark. Of confronting fears and planting seeds and taking leaps of faith. As I look back on my fifth build stint and the pictures I took, there’s a preponderance of grays and black, of clouds and drizzle, of cold metal and granite rocks. Of shadows, winter twilight and aluminum crutches.

But burgeoning beneath all of this are oranges and reds, warm light and glowing wood, budding friendships, camaraderie and familial love, and the promise of spring and of becoming, bubbling up like lava, inevitable, molten, raw.

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Categories: construction, thoughts on tiny | 8 Comments

Designing viscerally

meerkats

Meerkats on the alert, just like your amygdala. Credit: Sara & Joachim, Wikimedia Commons

“My advice for designing your tiny house? Follow your gut.

There are many valid approaches to design such as the pragmatic (function) or the aesthetic (form), but these tend to be rational processes using the cerebral cortex, the thinking part of your brain.

Here’s the thing: if you want to live happily in your tiny house over the long haul, you need to tap into your amygdala. That’s the more primitive part of your brain that triggers your immediate visceral, or gut, reactions to sensory input.”

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The Introvert and the Tiny House

the introvert

The Introvert herself.

Recently there was an interesting thread of comments on Tiny House Talk’s post on John Labovitz’s house truck that highlighted some classic introvert versus extrovert perspectives. The arguments supporting John’s choice of living arrangement and lifestyle mirrored my feelings exactly, and bolstered some ideas I’ve been mulling over the last year regarding introverts and tiny houses.

So for all the introverts thinking of living tiny, I offer you this valentine and validation.

Bucking decades of negative labels, there is a burgeoning movement to acknowledge the value of introverts and the gifts we bring to the world. I have a theory that there are strong parallels with the rise of the tiny house movement. Based on the common themes I read on tiny houser blogs, I rather suspect that tiny houses innately appeal to introverts.

I don’t mean to say that there aren’t extroverts living tiny – clearly there are (though as we will see, introversion is not always obvious on the outside). I just wouldn’t be surprised to learn that there is a high ratio of introverts to extroverts within the tiny house community. Agree? Disagree? Read on, then share your thoughts.

Why is this important? I’ve found that the more I understand my own nature, the better my tiny house design has become. I’m fairly certain that those who take the time to look inward during the design process are more likely to be happy with living tiny in the long run, whether you’re an introvert or an extrovert. There are big differences in how each interact with the world, and how they like to spend their energy. If you are considering living tiny, take some time to figure out what this means to you and the design of your house. This post delves into what I’m learning as I go through that process myself.

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Doing justice to complexity: a love affair with a tiny house

IMG_2682

ribcage

I Cannot Find My Tiny
for Dean Young

In the age of horses, everyone was
born with their own tiny pony to protect.
It was a large responsibility and they
felt themselves crumpling under the weight of it.
To keep their ponies safe, the people
carried them deep inside of their chest cavities.
They called them Tiny.
Everywhere, people ran wild across the prairies and
then they would remember their Tiny and crumple.
And then gallop once more and then again
they would crumple. The sound of the crumpling
was very pleasing, but the rest of it was not.
The landscape looked like a western,
all of the people either galloping free like the cowboys
or else crumpled in little mounds like dead Indians.
In their Tinies, they knew what was missing.
They were very insecure.
If I were there now, I’d say, “I feel funny.”
I’d say, “Please, let’s go for a trot.” I’d say, 
“Just let me into your ribcage.”
And you’d whinny at me.
That is, if I even knew where to find you.

~ Rebecca Bridge

I came across this poem a couple years ago, long before I had ever heard of tiny houses. I was looking for something meaningful in my life and was taken with it’s longing and evocativeness, it’s raw, tender passion.

During the twelve hour drive back to California, I had a lot of time to reflect back on my first month of construction. While tiny houses and simplicity are often uttered in the same breath, I learned there isn’t much that’s simple about the building of a tiny house.

complexity

hmmmm… 

Recalling the poem, I realized that building a house is a lot like growing a relationship…

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