Why am I so compelled to glimpse into windows as I pass them by? I gain no sexual gratification from this. I am not hoping to catch some nudity in my glance upward. No. It's the quiet, mundane moments that interest me. I suppose that in some way in these quiet times there is a beautiful vulnerability about those being watched. I can arrive unannounced and take in some part of this person's private life. Maybe I can even imagine myself in their place. Do I somehow envy these people? Looking in to the windows of a home feels much like glancing into a shop window. Perhaps I am shopping for a new life.
06 September 2008