Days of future past

I finally went to something I've been looking forward to for quite some time: going to Dennis Sever's House. The experience was captivating. Severs was an artist who lived during the second half of the 20th century, and took the time, money, and effort to restore the home he occupied into something that transcended the standard definition of "museum".

Allow me to explain. Severs' home is a traditional narrow British townhouse, located in the heart of the city, that extends up for five floors, each of which contains two rooms open to visitors. The decor is intended to be true to the period during which a wealthy French family would have occupied it; while there is some historical progression in the time frame it represents, the overlap of eras is intended to represent the continuum during which the generations of a family would have lived there, covering roughly the early 18th century up to the early 19th century.

But Severs didn't want a sterile atmosphere; he wasn't interested in exhibiting a time by trapping it in amber. Instead he looked to vivify the past, to give it vitality and potency. But how to create an immsersive experience that goes beyond simulacra, one that envelops visitors by virtue of its totality? What methods can one use to make a home seem less a relic of the past and more of a breathing, fully inhabited household? Severs himself notes that he wants to make people feel as if they have stepped through the frame of a painting and into the scene from which the artist drew inspiration.

The solution comes in the form of a silent tour the operates on Monday evenings, held only when it starts to become dark outside. People book a time (staggered to prevent the house from becoming crowded) and are then given free hand to wander the residence without speaking. The entire home is lit only with candles and fireplaces. But this is only the starting point for the experience. A main reason it is only open for this type of event one day a week is the amount of preparation required. You see, the idea behind the house is that you are a visitor who has actually walked in on a family from the 18th century during their evening business, and they actually remain in the house while you are there, and all your senses are telling you that they are still around you.

But they prove to be elusive quarry. Walking in to first room, the main dining hall, you find that dinner is on the table, half-eaten. The various smells are warm and inviting: potpourri, food, candles, firewood. Actual food is on the table, giving off a rich scent. But where did they run off to? And then you realize that you hear footsteps above you, or perhaps voices coming from the next room. You also hear the clip-clop of horses outside on the brick lane. And this is the genius of the house. The house is, to your senses, fully inhabited. Everything is active, and details are everywhere. The sinks are wet as if they are in use, because of course they are. Peeled lemons and oranges are arrayed around glasses of wine, roasts, and pastries. A cup of tea is half-spilt from the commotion, while hidden speakers let you be privy to snippets of conversation from the family. A living cat is snuggled up by the fireplace in the basement.

Each of the rooms is done up in a similar fashion, with food, light, warmth, sound, and fragances surrounding you at every step. The inhabitants are always vaguely heard, but never seen. They are a ethereal, ghostly presence, and you have to piece together their family history from clues in the room. A portrait there. A scrap of paper here. Perhaps a birth certificate framed next to some family paintings. A set of shoes, or a dress slung over a chair, maybe a wig even. You are a participant, not just a visitor, and you have to be willing to suspend a certain amount of disbelief to really become engaged with the magic of the place. As the motto of the house says, "You either see it or you don't".

And I feel I was lucky enough to go there on a fairly cool night, because even though I went by myself, coming in to this warm home with everything it contains proved to be one of the most romantic things I have ever seen. Simply wonderful.

I spent almost two hours in the house, and I was the last person to leave, I think. The people who worked there took notice of my keen interest, I suspect, because they came up to me and talked to me a bit, and even offered me the chance to sit in some of the antique chairs to relax around the home for a bit. That was one of the most fantastic parts, actually, the chance to sprawl out and pet the cat near the fireplace, as if I was truly living there with this family.

As a closing note, I like to think that not only was I afforded a glimpse into the past, I also got a look into the future as well. Based on the way things are currently going for me, I am fairly certain I'll end up one of those old guys who lives by himself, surrounded by nothing more than a group of cats, so this trip was a bit of a training for my future days of sitting by a fireplace with feline friends. And despite the fact that the room was quite warm due to the fireplace, I have to admit that this particular vision was, for a brief moment, chilling.