Watching me Watching you - In Window Day 1.
You would have thought, would you not, that living in a window all day and being peered at would be enough to make anyone self conscious? But not a bit of it. The most surprising thing about my 1st Day being 'Author in Residence in Window' was the opportunity it gave me to look out at the great British public. And what a motley crew we are.
The window itself is delightfully comfortable. I have managed to furnish it with a carpet - a Kurdish rug (on loan) a selection of cushions, a small nursing chair which fits the space perfectly and a little table on which the lap top sits. In the morning the sun shines in and, all in all it is SO comfortable - I am sure I'll not feel in the least inclined to leave when the nine days is up. I admit I wasn't expecting this. I thought I would be cramped but no - the Waterstones window would be roomy enough for two. As it is Bob, the plastic dog and I, have plenty of room to move around. And be looked at.
The strange thing is though, after a full day looking at humanity, I have to report that we are in a parlous state. I'd say that most of the faces that wander past look utterly vacuous. It's curious. Many people look but they don't see. It's fascinating. They walk past a window and because they don't expect the person to be alive - they simply don't see an alive person. Some people are so shocked if they do register something different from their expectations that they cry out with shock. Teenage girls even scream. They look at me as if to say 'but you can't be real because people don't sit in windows.' One man was heard to say to his son... 'It's an author - a real live one.' (I was reassured by his description.) Some of them look at me almost fearfully. As they stoll along thinking about yesterday or tomorrow or someone else (very few appear to be aware of where they actually are) they look almost caught out if they see me looking at them. They were just walking along you see - and then suddenly someone is looking at them. Someone who, strictly speaking, shouldn't be there. So they look shifty. Because it's not as if I'm sitting on a park bench and watching them go by. This is different. In this window the observed is also the observer. Observing is what I am doing. And it surprises them. Shifts reality all around. Many walk by quickly - it's just too much to compute. It doesn't fit.
But some are shaken awake. They stop. They not only look but they see. I smile and blow them a kiss and they walk up to the glass curiously. They read what is written on the window to explain what I'm doing. Look at the painting behind me and laugh. Following the game they turn and come into the shop, buy a book and get it signed for thier Mum. They ask me about the Literary Festival, take a brochure and go and buy a ticket for an event. Somehow a little magic has occured. A series of events they had not anticipated has broken into the day like a dream. Like a new story.
What is so fascinating for me though - is the number that walk on by and although they look they don't see me. Even though I see them. With all the clarity of a goldfish looking out of a bowl.
