I have no idea why I’m writing about my laundry practices but putting out the washing in the garden this morning, I was struck by how often I’ve photographed laundry that’s been hung out to dry. From the harbourside of a Scottish coastal village…
To one of the world’s most beautiful cities, Venice.
Here in Burano, one of the islands in the Venetian lagoon, the washing just seems to add to the local, well, colour. There’s something about it which is both charming and revealing, hinting at the domestic life of the people behind the shutters and curtains. Which is, after all, something that most people are innately curious about.
In some places, the hanging out of laundry is prohibited because it spoils the view. Perhaps it also reminds those who make such rules of the places from whence they came that they hoped they’d put behind them? I’m glad I don’t live in that kind of place, although of course I can see that there are instances where it might not be appropriate for washing to be festooned all over the street.
And since I’m on the subject perhaps I should clarify that chez Cottage, the underwear and socks, the ‘smalls’, stay modestly inside the house, whatever the weather.