Space

SPACE v1
X marks the spot

It’s the X that draws you to the space. 10 inches by 10 inches, perfectly symmetrical, firm in its ownership of the metal surround. It’s been painted in that official shade of yellow that’s intended to command our attention and obedience. However, what message it is meant to convey is unclear in this instance, and it’s as if someone realised this as there’s been an attempt at erasure, leaving a dirty smudgy grey effect to the surface; the yellow fighting through in places, determined to do its job and issue its instruction.

The metal surround is less pleasing to the eye: one of those herring bone designs seen in both real and fake metal flooring. Without my glasses on the patterns are out of focus and appear to move around in a giddy jig, unsettling and slightly nauseating. The floor space denoted by the metal has a boundary of about 5 foot by 3 foot – large enough to lie down in if the dizziness overcomes me.

Whilst the foreground surface is richly decorated with chewing gum and the detritus of London life, at the far edge unblemished metal is bounded by a relatively clean white line and an assertive stripe of yellow. No doubt someone somewhere can translate this coded message intended for those who walk this path.

The space is occupied.

I stand here owning my 15 square foot of floor space and - backed up by the forceful voice of the cadmium yellow - no one comes near.

SPACE v2
Waste of Space

This space is a waste of space… it has no use.

In inclement weather you couldn’t shelter there. When the sun is out you couldn’t bask in its rays in this space. You couldn’t sit and read a book or contemplate the views there.

Business people don’t bustle through juggling briefcases, mobiles and Starbucks. Kids don’t play there of hang out in menacing gangs comparing the size of their weapons. Dogs don’t shit there. Tourists don’t sit there. Even the man with the over-engineered sweeping machine doesn’t clean there.

IT HAS NO USE!

Apart from, of course, should the unlikely incident occur that the young man up above – possibly slightly hungover from a night spent partying at a club to drown his sorrows because his girlfriend left him for his best mate a week ago – starts to feel dizzy and steps backwards, reaching for the building to steady himself. In doing so he misjudges his footing and kicks a bucket, which rolls towards the edge, causing him to leap forward to catch it, transferring his weight too quickly and, setting off a chain of reactions culminating in the window washing scaffolding cascading down to earth in an almighty crash.

Then, this space below where we cannot go, would have served its purpose.