Horror Vacui

I’ve become enamored of the phrase: “horror vacui”. It came onto my radar through an article in the NY Times about the auction of the belongings of the late decorator/collector/hoarder, Mario Buatta, aka the Prince of Chintz. Buatta, who was unknown to me until the article, was described as a maximalist. A man after my own heart. I believe that a blank space on the wall is crying out to have something hung on it. My husband, on the other hand, is a minimalist. We’re a classic example of opposites attracting.

I was thrilled to learn that my affliction has a name. One of Buatta’s colleagues said of him that he “had a horror vacui of a plain surface.” The term is generally applied to visual art, especially on walls, but it can refer to a wide range of décor, such as tables and shelves. Simply put, horror vacui leads to the filling of the entire surface of a space or an artwork with detail. It’s also known as kenophobia, the fear of empty spaces, rooms or voids, and is the opposite of claustrophobia.

There is no shame in acknowledging that you have a horror vacui. Even Aristotle believed that nature abhors a vacuum. I feel so much better now that I know I’m not simply an incorrigible hoarder. I always believed there was a psychological basis for my collecting (a term I prefer to hoarding).

I saw my behavior as compassionate anthropomorphizing. I felt that one of something was lonely and needed a friend, so I’d seek out a second. Then whenever I came across another related item, I was compelled to bring it home to introduce it to the others. As I’m writing this, it occurs to me that “compassionate anthropomorphizing”—a description I just now made up—sounds like more of an affliction than horror vacui.

Getting back to this evocative newfound term, it dawned on me that the dislike of a vacuum can apply to a lot more things in life than just visual décor. Take for instance anatomy. Certain women’s surgeries leave a void in their aftermath. I’m thinking in particular of hysterectomies. No one prepares you for the fact that removing your various reproductive organs leaves an empty space behind.

Just as nature abhors a vacuum, so also does the female body. Over time, things move around. Without getting too graphic, I urge you to think of what else is down in that area of the anatomy. Things shift; they change shape; they twist. Your stomach expands, so you eat more. Your intestines spread out, so your colonoscopy takes longer. Sorry. I guess I did get too graphic. It takes a period of adjustment to get used to these changes.

As I mulled this over, it occurred to me that the medical community should come up with some ideas for how to fill that vacuum so there is no horror months later. As you might expect, I have some suggestions.

How about packing that void with Styrofoam peanuts? Of course, they’ll need to be biocompatible ones, but not biodegradable. Otherwise you’d have to go in every few years to get repacked. Not a pleasant thought.

I suppose it’s too ridiculous to consider adapting that space to become a convenient dispenser for disposable personal wipes. They’d certainly be handy down there. And yes, I know these should never be flushed. Moving right along…

My favorite idea is one that could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Let’s fill that vacuum with delicately fragrant potpourri. That might require more extensive R&D than the Styrofoam peanuts, but I’m sure it would be worth it.

Copyright 2020 Business Theatre Unlimited

The Latest Weird Trends

Every now and then I like to report on the latest weird trends. Two that I’ve noticed lately seem geared toward helping folks deal with anger and stress. The first is the growth of an offbeat physical hobby—axe throwing.

My first exposure to this was small signs along the roadside when I was running errands. The signs looked temporary, like the ones that advertise local blood drives or craft shows at the middle school. They included an address nearby. At first I thought it was for a pop-up event. Then I saw signs on a different route, for a different address. Still not what looked like a permanent sign, but it had me questioning how a relatively small area of Connecticut could support more than one place for axe throwing.

This led me to wonder if you need to bring your own gear—protective equipment, weaponry, etc. Or is it more like bowling, where you show up, and the fee to use the lane includes the shoes and ball? Does one even throw an axe in a lane? I wasn’t curious enough to research this. As stressed as I am about the political scene, I’ve yet to reach the point where I’m ready to toss lethal weapons around. Of course, November is a long way off.

Then I saw an axe-throwing commercial on a local TV station. Those ads are a lot more expensive than makeshift roadside signs. A quick online search turned up several places in my area where I can partake in this anger-releasing activity. The nearest site to me—Axe-it!—encourages you to book a party. Corporate Team Building, Birthday and Bachelor/ette. One FAQ suggests wearing closed-toed shoes (surprise, surprise). And yes, shoes are available for rent. They encourage you to sign their waiver on-line to save time at check-in. And no, I didn’t read the waiver, but I can easily imagine what’s in it.

I’ll be curious to hear if any of my readers have thrown an axe—legally or otherwise. Meanwhile, I’m moving on to the second weird trend: Elderberry Syrup. This age-old elixir is an anti-inflammatory, rich in antioxidants. It’s purported to fight colds, the flu and viruses. With the Coronavirus consuming much of the media bandwidth, can anyone be surprised that elderberry is growing in popularity? It also seems inevitable that this juice will soon be in competition with CBDs to relieve stress.

Before you become too enamored of this miracle drink, let’s take a look back into movie history and revisit Cary Grant’s 1944 classic Arsenic and Old Lace. For those unfamiliar with it, here’s a recap. Grant’s two eccentric elderly aunts rent rooms to lonely old bachelors. They serve them poison-laden elderberry wine to liberate them from their “suffering.” They initially hide the bodies in their window seat, which is where their nephew finds one on a visit. Grant’s disturbed uncle Teddy thinks these corpses are yellow fever victims who got the disease while building the Panama Canal, so he buries them in the basement of his sisters’ house.

Grant assumes that the delusional Teddy is behind the window seat murder, until his aunts cheerfully explain what they’ve done. They spiked their elderberry wine with arsenic, strychnine and cyanide, and then offered it as a welcoming drink to each elderly bachelor who responds to their “Room for Rent” sign. The comedy just keeps getting sillier. I’m sure it was the inspiration for a classic episode of Fawlty Towers. Suffice it to say that Arsenic and Old Lace is an apt title for this film. But it really should have been Arsenic, Old Lace and Elderberry Wine. Rent it, buy it, download it, but however you get it, watch it, even if you’ve seen it before.

My husband brought home some elderberry syrup for us. It’s actually quite pleasant. I’m not sure how much of a virus shield it provides, but I’ll keep drinking it now and then. Axe-throwing, on the other hand, will never be a hobby I take up. I’m way too clumsy for that. Even with close-toed shoes, I’d be likely to come home missing at least one of my little piggies.

Copyright 2020 Business Theatre Unlimited