Windowlene

I have discovered the joys of cleaning the bath.  This has nothing to do with some Puritan obsession with cleanliness, nor a post-AIDS hygiene drive.  It is purely aesthetic.  Like all true aesthetic urges it is not bound by mundane considerations.  It rises above them.  Once I have cleaned the bath, I start on the washbasin, the toilet, the wall tiles.  I may move then to the kitchen, a huge canvas on which I can unleash my artistic impulses.  As well as the stainless steel sink, a perennial adversary, there is the cooker, the cupboards, the fridge. And then there are the windows... 

So what am I doing? Have I succumbed to middle age at last, and become domesticated?  Is this an incipient broodiness?  I think not.  Though it is probably true that I am tapping into that same primal urge which drives housewives to insane acts of revenge when the integrity of their cleaning endeavours has been sullied thoughtlessly by marauding families.

One component is purely physical.  Cleaning the bath makes you puff.  It requires physical strength to remove those really persistent stains, flexibility as you bend over the bath, standing on one leg, leaning on a wall, and stamina to keep going.  The repetitive act of scouring, rubbing and polishing attains a kind of mantric power as your body locks into the rhythm.  This side of it probably appeals less to the harried housewife, and more to the Nautilus freaks who have nothing better to do than indulge in mindless physical exertion anyway. 

The other element is probably the main compulsion for the habitual bath-cleaner, as opposed to dilettantes like myself, who would in any case find it an interesting experience if only on account of rarity value.  It is where the artistic impulse manifests itself most clearly.  The act of cleaning the bath or equivalent is closely linked with Michelangelo's description of carving stone; you have to imagine the final work emerging from the raw material, removing the layers which conceal it.

To clean a bath you need a strong apperception of what lies beneath – that is, the gleaming pristine bath.  The same applies to sinks, cookers and fridges.  As you work away at your art, you sense the trapped object rising out of its bondage to meet you.  The end achievement is this proud animal in its full glory, no longer trammelled.

Part of the sense of fulfilment has to do with the professionalism with which the task is carried out.  For example, a range of appropriate tools is essential.  These might comprise a choice of cloths, from Brillo pads and scourers, to j-cloths and paper towels for the final burnish.  Chemical warfare is crucial: for each surface there is now a highly-tailored product. There are the detergents, the antiseptics, the scouring powders – and, of course, Windowlene.

In many ways Windowlene is the acme of this armoury, just as the window is the apotheosis of the bath-cleaner's skills.  What was once seen through a dark glass darkly, is transmogrified into a symbol of the cleaner's soul, as spotlessly translucent as the greatest artist is to his art.

(22.11.86)

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