Long Island Sounds by Maria Molton
I entered her on a hot August day in 2009 in Southampton, NY. As the glass-paneled doors opened, I could hear my presence walking in, and there, I exhaled and buckled to my knees. It was love at first sight for me. Floor to ceiling windows, acting as brilliant eyes looking out onto the glistening pool and wild garden. I stood there gazing outward and I could hear the quiet welcoming sound of a new unlived in soul; the pure virginal echo of slowly moving in. Light wood floors throughout, gleaming and whispering for the sound and weight of footsteps. The walls, strong and bright white , softly asking to be dressed in Art and Life. The dramatic staircase, winding and waiting for the rhythmic sounds of moving through life. Every room in the house that is her soul took shape, becoming what it is supposed to be. The sounds of televisions blaring, music playing, beds creaking, utensils clanking, doors slamming, doors opening and closing…listening to the rumble of beginnings and endings. The sounds of slow, shuffling footsteps, of aging complicated parents.
Staged politeness, pregnant pauses and angered laughter; this soon gives way to the thunderous, more aggressive pleasantries that create the oh so complicated symphony of a blended family. The bewildering, heart-wrenching sounds of being in Love…the crying and lieing and moaning and laughing. The joyous sobs of ecstasy muddled together with the acute, soulful cries of pain and loss. Emotional noise filling every space and dancing to the varying beats of life. Conversations light and heavy, songs sang from hearts full of rage and beauty. Friends, foes and family members all in one glowing in the vibrating sounds of complicated radiance. So many voices laughing and shouting, whining and cackling, reverberating through the architectural bones of her substance and force. Small cracks are heard and felt eventually giving way to louder more severe bangs against her weary walls.
The seasons batter her with the powerful howling winds of change shaking her to the core. She insulates, prepares and dresses herself for the elaborate, melodic play of the Holidays. They come and go with the bellowing sounds of joyful songs meshed together with obscure unspoken realities; a tragic screeching opera of forced responsibilities. The orchestra continues to play as new faces are invited in. And the residence that is her soul takes it all in, breathing in and breathing out, as life inevitably spreads its wings with the ringing booming tentacles of new blood. She is the Mistress of us all, the one who sees and hears who we are when no one else is looking. She keeps all of our secrets safe and sound. Alone in her rooms, or with lovers and partners, she understands the philosophical profound sounds that permeate throughout this beautiful aria and dwell in her abode. This gentle giant keenly observes and feels the sounds of our answered questions and questions remaining. Sounds, sounds, sounds, giving birth to more sounds, new and old, soft and sweet, loud and booming; but never weighing down this regal, graceful amphitheater. Life, in all of its soundful glory, moves through her, swirling and twirling, singing and shouting; pulsing blood in the veins of her majestic beauty. She carries us all, our loud and soundless emotions bouncing off of the walls of her soul. And still she stands there with her upright posture, her elegant stance and welcoming stare inviting us all in. She’s been bruised and battered, caressed and seduced, by the Deafening Sounds of Life.