On Light
A man learns about a room when the sun is gone. He learns about his own house. He flicks a switch and the room is what it is. Or maybe it is not.
It was different once. There was fire, and then there was the bulb. The first bulbs were small suns in glass cages. They were honest. They lit a thing or they did not. They showed you a table, a book, a face. They cast hard shadows on the wall and you knew where you stood.
Then things got soft. They put shades on the lamps. They made the glass frosted. The light was diffused. It was easier on the eyes, they said. It was a polite light. It did not show the cracks in the plaster or the tiredness in a man’s face after a long day. It was a light that lied by omission.
A woman chooses a lamp for a room the way she chooses a word for a difficult conversation. It sets the tone. A cold, bright light from a metal fixture is for work. It is for the garage, for the workshop, for seeing things as they are, with all their flaws and sharp edges. It is a true light.
But the light in the living room, or by the bed, that is a different thing. That light is warm. It comes from a lamp with a shade made of cloth or old paper. It pools on the floor. It leaves the corners of the room in a soft darkness. That light is for talking. It is for drinking a good whiskey. It is for remembering things, or forgetting them. It does not show the whole truth, and that is its virtue.
Now they sell you smart lights. Lights you can talk to. Lights that change color with a word from your phone. You can have a blue light or a pink one. It is a parlor trick. It is a light with no conviction. It does not know what it is. A light should have a purpose. To read by. To work by. To live by. It should not be a toy.
The best light I ever knew was in a cabin up north. It was a single kerosene lamp. It drew a circle of gold on a wooden table and the rest of the world was night. In that circle, there was a bottle and two glasses and a conversation that mattered. The light knew its job. It held the darkness back, just enough.
So when you choose a light, do not just ask if it is bright. Ask what it is for. Ask what truth it will tell, and what truth it will keep to itself. A room is not just a room. It is the light you put in it.