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Memorandum on design : Observing light…on a stormy night
The power goes down on a stormy night. You suddenly find yourself without light. If it were me, I would frantically look for some source of light, maybe a candle or small flashlight. Once I had calmed down, I would try to continue doing my work with that single small light. Wash the dishes, make coffee, read a book. Fold laundry, pet the cat, and sometimes look out into space and think. And I would realize that there is not really much I am lacking for. If anything, common, ordinary chores have become a bit more endearing and taken on a bit more depth. It is at times like these that we can make the correct observations that our lives require. We correctly observe light. It is too bright. It is too broad. It is too large. It is too white. We make these basic observations.
And if it is nighttime and you are with someone you love… When everything is covered in darkness and you only have a single small light by which you spend the night together, you find yourselves able to say to her things you normally would not. Emotional scars about which you have remained silent, words of love that you never before spoke, idle chatter that was simply unnecessary before. You feel like you can talk, without exaggeration, without needing to pluck up the courage, and maybe with a bit of a smile on your face. A single small light is more than sufficient to understand her confessions and pick up on her subtle grins. It is on such nights that you understand the true scale of the light you require, and the true utility of your lamps.
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