A Series of Functional Spaces

Ang JingWei

Utility Green
One of the fluorescent lights is flickering, like a twitching eyelid of the weary. A glassy ping goes off every few seconds, as it dims and brightens. The four other lights are functioning normally. Fixed to the low ceiling, they are spaced out at regular intervals. A sporadic tip-tap can be heard flying insects striking the light tubes. Follow the insect as it weaves through the air. A non-descript, black, and winged dot, circling the light in an eccentric orbit. On a whim, it turns away from the light, and flits across the room, towards the window. A two-pane sliding window with grey frames, no grilles, since the room is on the ground floor. There is a slight tint to the glass, such that the night outside appears even darker. Now you can see where the insect entered fromthere is a small gap on the right side of the window, where it has not been shut properly. What is the function of this room, that locking the windows has become unnecessary? The insect leaves the room. The gap is no wider than a human pinky, but a sharp draft of night wind is still perceptible. Beyond the gapsuggestions of a parking lot, deserted at this hour; streetlamps, like eyes watching the concrete, standing solemn in their regularity. And even further down, the black line of a highway. Retreat back into the room. Go along the wall on the right side. A few metres awaythe smooth painted surface of a door. The colour is chalky green, celadon, anonymous and operative, perhaps better called utility green. A wide, functional door; with a duty lever door handle. There are fingerprints on the metal. Different sets of loops and whorls that cross each other like a topography map.

The door looks heavy. There is a hinge on the top of the door, meant to make the door resistant, almost stubborn. People would have found this door difficult. Proceed from the doorway. There is no carpet to clean your shoes on. Presumably, the function of this room entails that people enter in a well-groomed condition. Walk a few steps forwards. The short side of the counter is blocking the way. A three sided-counterthe two shorter sides meet the wall, enclosing the space. The counter top is elbow high. It is a fortress. On the far side of the countera swinging door. Utility green for this furniture. The edges have a darker trim. But nonetheless, it can be considered a solid, single-coloured object. The consistency in colour gives it the sense of being impervious. What is the function of this room, that the people behind the counter have to be insulated from the people on the other side? Within the fortress, against the wallcabinets. Painted magnolia white, the wood grain still showing through. The total length of the cabinets matches the long side of the counter. Two sets of double doors, followed by a single door. The cabinet is opened via a small, silver knob; too small, even for a thumb and two fingers. It remains uncertain whether the cabinet doors snapped shut of their own accord, thus imposing some anxiety on the user; or perhaps, the doors were lightweight and docilethe antithesis of the entrance door. Under the cabinets, on the left cornera footstool. A speckled, grey plastic stool; only wide enough for a pair of feet. Rubber stoppers encase the plastic legs. The furnitures age can only be revealed through the flaking rubber; the smooth plastic reflects a pristine lustre, unchanged since its day of fabrication. Perhaps a clue, that the function of this room demands that the people enter in an unblemished condition. There is not a single footprint, or even a fragment of it, on the chair. Alternatives exist: a housekeeping roster that has been dutifully adhered to; indoor footwear for

those puttering behind the fortress; or perhaps the height of these individuals removed the need for a footstool. Either way, the objects in this room have been kept in such a manner, as to imply a pervasive sterility. From the long side of the counter, take ten steps across the linoleum floor. A dark, dappled grey of recycled materialslinseed oil, pine rosin, ground cork dust, wood flour, calcium carbonate, pigments, against a canvas backing. At the end of the ten steps, confront a sofa. A three-seater sofa, aligned parallel with the counter. Leather of an indeterminate shade of brown; a squeaky texture, unbreathable; that sticks to sweaty skin. The furniture is made up of lumpseach shaped according to its function. Indents. Depressions on the surface of the couch indicate boundaries. Two single-seater sofas to the left and right. Flanking the central sofa like consorts. They are not perpendicular, but instead face the main sofa at an angle. A conversation has taken place here. What is the function of this room, that gives rise to interactions between three, maybe five, people? Where a coffee table has been expected, there is none. The antisepsis of this room naturally calls for restrictions on consumption behaviour. This brings into existence an empty rectangle of space, framed by the three sofas. More leg room, perhaps. One would pay the price for comfort through the lack of anchor for human interactions. There is an aberration. A magazine rack on the left side of the main sofa. A contraption of foldable wooden beams, it balances precariously on four spindly legs. Chromatism on the magazine coversthe splash of colours is the only sign of life in this sterile room. Standard poses of the human anatomyhands on hips, one shoulder forward; angled hip, weight on one leg, head tilted back; back arched, breasts forward; legs folded underneath, hands prowling out of the paper, eyes hungry.

Closeups of the face, hair lifted by a mysterious wind. Lips puckered; lips parted; lips turned up; lips turned down. Such exquisite stimulus. When ones eyes fall upon the images, greed would overtake the mind. With eager hands, flip through the glossy pages, and feast on the visual ambrosia. In a corner of the mind, the reader is transplanting himself into the scene. Oh, the pathos, the perfect tension of a moment. A spectacle to touch the deepest, darkest corners of the heart. A scenario that natural forces can never realize, except as a flat image printed on coated fine paper. These pictures will enter the memory; and in the moments before sleep, replay themselves in various renditions, according to the minds hunger. The two dimensional realm is a tyrant in the three dimensional world. Do not underestimate its power. Away from the magazine rack. The one thing that is seeding life into the septic air. Walk past the couch, to the other end of the counter. Notice the subdued lighting. This is a transition point. An opening in the wall, a metre or so from the right end of the counter. It stretches into a hallway, getting darker with distance. Lighting is absent here. Where a green and white exit sign is expected, there is none. Safe to presume then, that this is a hallway or corridor of some kind. A connection between two points. A changeover between two functions. The light switch cannot be found. The hallway does not belong to the room. What is the function of this room, that it is unwillingly connected to other places? Stop at the edge of obscurity. One can go no further. Not at this hour. This is the end of the green room.