Mag 132 Big Room

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Big Room , 1948, byAndrew Wyeth

Big Room

I had heard so much about Big Room from my friends but had never visited it, believing, I suppose, that I should only enter it by invitation. After many years of no invitation being issued I gathered my courage and decided to go into it anyway. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ I asked myself and my friends encouraged me. ‘It’s amazing,’ they said. ‘You won’t be able to believe your eyes.’

I said, ‘Why don’t you come with me?’ but they all demurred, declaring there were other, more pressing claims on their time. ‘Besides,’ they said, ‘We’ve already been there. It wouldn’t be so impressive a second time.’

I thought that was a specious argument but said no more. Having decided I would go I wanted to proceed immediately on my adventure, for that is what it felt like.

It was a cold day when I slipped into the room, but light reflected off the snow sufficient to allow me to see clearly. I was overwhelmed by the vastness of the room. I had never seen such immensity. Everything was larger than life. As I moved forward an enormous head in the window startled me but I soon realised it was no threat to me though I wondered what purpose it served. I tiptoed across the polished floorboards towards the fireplace. There was no fire burning and that surprised me on such a chilly morning. I knew then that the occupant of the room was absent and I relaxed, knowing I would not be disturbed.  Instead of a bright blaze two dogs sat in the grate – I had heard of fire dogs but had always supposed them to be devices to hold logs. These dogs were facsimiles of real creatures, quite attractive in their way, but of no practical use and certainly no danger to me, for all their great size.  I peered up – there were likenesses of people, and two candlesticks, on a shelf above the fireplace. A large clock ticked heavily, its pendulum swinging mesmerically. I gazed at it, all thoughts fleeing my mind. Presently, chimes rang forth, causing me to gasp and stumble and bringing me back to my senses.

There was little else in the room but a circular table on a tall stem. On it I could just make out two rosy shapes. They smelt like apples and as my stomach rumbled I recognised how hungry I was. I should have planned my journey and brought provisions with me.  I was sure the owner wouldn’t begrudge me a little nourishment. He, or she, would have taken the food with them, surely, if they had needed it. The problem was that I couldn’t reach the fruits and even if I had been able to I would never have been capable of lifting them. 

So, exhausted, I returned home to share my experiences with my friends. They brought me refreshments and sympathised with me over the apples. ’We felt the same,’ they said. ‘That’s the trouble with only being two inches tall; it’s very limiting.’