Peter Greenaway's film, "The Pillow Book"

I recently rewatched Peter Greenaway's film The Pillowbook, based on the novel written by Sei Shonagon during Japan's Heian period.  There are many reasons to see this film if you haven't from the interlaced quotes from Shonagon's book, to the sets, and of course Martin Margiela's costumes created specifically for the film.

Since my eyes are trained more towards decor these days, I made a mental note of the elements in the sets that I really enjoyed. The film takes place in many different rooms and settings, all centered around the main characters obsessions with writing and aesthetics and beauty. Here are a few that were particularly interesting.

This first screenshot is just one of the book filled rooms that the movie takes place in, and while I know those bookshelves are highly impractical, I love overfilled bookshelves. 

I have a horrible habit of putting knickknacks and random objects on the unfilled edges of my bookshelves. These particular shelves in the film remind me of the Danish-Scandanavian design bookshelves you can find in a lot of brocantes and design stores in Paris. I like basic the basic wood aspect with natural finish and the cleaness compared to the clutter.

But my favorite piece of furniture in the movie is this massive antique cabinet turned into a stationary supply cupboard. Or as Monsieur says, a tabernacle of ink and paper.

A storage solution you would never see in an Office Depot catalog.

I am a big fan (big fan here really means impulsive-obsessive) of office supplies. I have boxes upon boxes full of different size and style paper clips, Post-It notes, various staplers, note writing paper, notebooks, pens & pencils, and art supplies. I like to keep these things around because if I ever do find the inspiration, I want to have them immediately. Unfortunately in their current state by the time I've managed to find that one marker I wanted, the inspiration has passed.

In the film, when she opens the cupboard or closes the cupboard it's an artistic statement. She's ready to get to work. I've been trying to have the same serious artistic feeling about opening my laptop, but it's just not the same thing.

Since I don't have the space for a tabernacle of office supplies, I've tried to find a smaller solution. Something as beautifully made to give the same dramatic effect that within this object are the tools of my trade.

One of my favorite places for decor items is Maisons du Monde (Houses of the World). Here you can find nice wood pieces from a company that does care about the environment. I remembered seeing a really nice dresser of drawers (perfect for supplies) when I last visited one of their shops.

Mango wood cabinets, with brass accents 300,00 euros.

My favorite is the cabinet in the back with the little shelf that pulls out. I could definitely see that as being useful when digging around for things or wanting just to staple a few pages together, though it's hardly a tabernacle and for 300,00 euros I'm positive I could find something cheaper and nicer at any of the brocantes or vide greniers (meaning attic purging, the French equivalent of a garage sale where people in the neighborhood sell their wares on the sidewalk) for much less and it's a more environmentally friendly option. Still I like the idea of having a chest full of small drawers for office supplies, even if it's not the ode to stationary supplies found in the film.

One of the most interesting connections made in the film is that every aspect from the physical appearance of the characters, to the settings, to the clothing, to even the way the characters speak is all taken from Shonagon's lists or observations of how the world is or how the world should be.

Here is one example of a list from Sei Shonagon's fascinating little book, and probably my favorite.

Elegant Things*

A white coat worn over a violet waistcoat.

Duck eggs.

Shaved ice mixed with liana syrup and put in a new silver bowl.

A rosary of rock crystals.

Wisteria blossoms. Plum blossoms covered in snow.

A pretty child eating strawberries.

* Keep in mind she was a princess.

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Congreve's Cube from Mr. Magorium's Magic Emporium

I just finished watching Mr. Magorium's Magic Emporium because I love children's movies and I ain't afraid to admit it.

Weather is dreary in Paris and I desperately need inspiration. I've written a total of 140 words in the past two weeks. A book store crawl through 3 different quartiers of Paris was little help.

So I watched Mr. Magorium's Magic Emporium, and without ruining it for those who have yet to see it, thanks to IMDB and a little curiosity on my part, I found something rather interesting from the movie.

Mr. Magorium gives Mahoney a cube, a highly polished but normal looking block of wood that is magical, though she is unable to see it called the Congreve Cube. A user on IMDB theorized that:

William Congreve either suffered from Writer's Block, or was so put off by a review and changing tastes in plays that he wrote no more. He wrote 5 plays and stopped, but, perhaps a deeper meaning of the Congreve Cube can be found in the opening lines of his play "The Mourning Bride," in which the first character laments the death of her love:

"Music has charms to soothe the savage breast. To soften rock, or bend knotted oak. I've read, that inanimate things have moved and, as with living souls, have been informed by magic numbers and persuasive sound."

Congreve lived off the residuals of his earlier works, only occasionally writing a poem or translating a work by Moliere, having gone off the deep end after Jeremy Collier (and collier could be translated here as a necklace or yoke, if we wanted to, and I do), wrote that Congreve's plays were too sexual in nature.

I'm often criticized because in the writing group I occasionally pop into I'm rather harsh with my views on people's writings. Part of the reason why I don't pull any punches or expect anyone to pull any for my sake either is because as a writer you have to be able to take criticism and if you can't take it from a stranger who is actually trying to help you, than how will you deal with it when it's a professional?

So the moral of today's story is don't be like William Congreve. If you believe in your work, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And never rest of your residuals.

Congreve's ego and unwillingness to defend his work might have deprived the world of more great writing because it was Congreve who wrote:

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned,"

And we all know that line, don't we?

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