A Room With a View

A luxury once sampled becomes a necessity.

I know this is true, for having lived the first few decades of my life without a view, I am now fortunate enough to enjoy panoramic views from both my house and my office, views that I can't imagine living without.

As I sit here, staring out at the view, I wonder why I spend so much time staring out at the view. Why are we so attracted to views? What is it about the maze of streets, the masses of buildings, the moving cars, the distant mountain ranges that attracts the eye?

Actually, nothing. Nothing down there specifically attracts us; we have no intrinsic interest in the things we see. Rather, what we see down there is only important insofar as it helps us see our distance from the world. What really attracts us is our thrill at being above it all. Our interest in the 10,000-foot perspective. Our retreat to the peace and quiet of our own aerie, safe from the world's concerns until we decide to descend.

I once spent a few days in an 85th-floor office with an unobstructed view. I didn't enjoy the view nearly as much as I thought I would. The office was so high that I couldn't see the little details that reminded me of its height. Not being able to make out individual buildings and cars, to follow specific streets with my eye, I felt as if I were uncomfortably floating in the sky rather than securely perched atop a crow's nest.

I've had the same reaction to ocean views, especially from those hilltop homes high above the sea: the ocean is so vast and featureless that it's hard for me to triangulate, and therefore appreciate, my lofty position. And then at night it's just a sea of black, nothing there to remind me of where I am.

I have no idea what really motivated the Dutch landscape painters, but I've always wanted to believe it was their desire, living in the flattest of flat lands, to rise above it all, to perch atop a high peak, to gain a perspective reality denied to them. The details of their pastoral scenes weren't the point, you see, it was the sensation you felt viewing them.

But then, I think, doesn't all this say more about me, and my need to rise above it all, to achieve a lofty position in life, to savor a tangible manifestation of the ladder I'm climbing, than it says about views or paintings?

At least that's what I ask myself as I sit here, staring out at the view.

Comments

[stephenesque]

I once had an office window that looked out on to the patio of the swish Euro trash restuarnt below. At lunch time in the summer all the trash would double-park their Mercedes sports cars outside and just sip bloody marys all day long. When my company went out of business I had to schlep all my things out past this motley assortment of deeply tanned layabouts and poor little rich things. Very ignominious.

[Outer Life]

For a few years my office window overlooked a hotel pool. As I slaved the day away, I could look out and see those same people lounging by the pool, sipping tropical drinks and tanning the day away. Made it a little harder to slave the day away.