Hotel Room

You enter and open your eyes, like the shutter unfolds in a camera and step into an old 1930s movie. Now, however, no longer black and white but rich and exuberant with saturated colors hinting of golden and red velvet days. It is an impressionist still-life crowded with eclectic objects and sculptures, some from the ancien regime of Versailles and others from the Aztec caves of Mexico. The room is jumbled with sleek curves and smooth angles. The rich furrowed streamlined geometry of the wood trim gives the room a balance and poise. The aroma of wood, velvet and leather mingle with the scent from the rich green plants placed throughout the room on high and voluptuous vases. This dimly lit room is cluttered with elegance but made spacious by nooks and crannies buried within mirrors that hide endless side rooms and passageways all painted in the same rich faux finished beige and gold walls found throughout. It is a labyrinth of decadence, a hospice at the heart of civilization, full of silver, crystal, ivory, and jade.  As you look up it takes a few seconds to reach the immense ceiling. On the walls, you see giant paintings with thick fluted frames, depicting maps and primordial figures from other continents. Under your feet, the dark brown lacquered floor is shiny and dense. It never creaks. The bed is hidden at first behind a high wood wall and is only made suddenly conspicuous by a glass dome canopy and the golden statues supporting it. It is an elevated and hard climb to reach the bed and it’s a place you would not want to leave too quickly, once you had arrived. Perhaps Charlie Chaplin made decisions about the next Little Tramp picture show here, or Noel Coward drank gin, or Mara Callas discussed her performance from a few hours before.
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