A Room of One’s Own: the Stories Our Spaces Tell
Every room I have ever had has been an extension of me, a cocoon, a looking glass, where pieces of my past have deeply embedded themselves. In this room I am everything all at once. Who I aspire to be, who I wish I had been and who I am. Posters, miscellaneous pocket trinkets and pictures of my parents, pieces of paper with poems I never completed. As I have grown, my room and the objects within it have changed and so have I, but my room has been an extension of me, everything there is to know about my life is in my room, in all its rawness. Walking into a person’s room is a map to them, who they are behind the scenes.
This deeply personal connection to our spaces is something photographer James Mollison captures beautifully in his project Where Children Sleep. Mollison takes us into the bedrooms of children around the world, offering a glimpse into their lives through the lens of the spaces they inhabit. Just as my room has been a reflection of my journey, the rooms in Mollison’s photographs serve as windows into the lives of these children, each one telling a story of its own.
In Tokyo, four-year-old Kaya’s room is a bright, vibrant space filled with dresses handmade by her mother, shelves overflowing with toys, and a sense of joy that mirrors her dreams of becoming a cartoonist. Her room is a reflection of a childhood steeped in love and creativity, a sanctuary where her imagination can run wild.
In stark contrast, eight-year-old Roathy’s sleeping space in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, is a bed made from old tires, set amidst the harsh reality of a rubbish dump. His room, if it can be called that, tells a story of survival and resilience, a life defined by the struggle for basic necessities. The objects in his space—scavenged cans and bottles—are not just items, they are the tools of his survival, the markers of a life lived on the edge.
Each of these rooms, whether filled with luxury or stripped to the bare essentials, is a reflection of the child who inhabits it. Just as my room holds the key to understanding me, these spaces offer a profound insight into the lives of the children Mollison photographed. They reveal the disparities in wealth, culture, and opportunity, but they also highlight the universal need for a place to call our own—a space where we can dream, grow, and simply be ourselves.
Mollison’s project reminds us that a room is never just a room. It is a living, breathing extension of the person who occupies it. Whether it’s a top-floor apartment on Fifth Avenue in New York or a makeshift bed on the streets of Rio de Janeiro, each space tells a story of identity, of aspirations, and of the complex social fabric that shapes our lives.
In the end, Where Children Sleep is more than just a collection of photographs. It is a powerful reminder that our rooms, no matter how small or grand, are the places where our lives unfold. They are the silent witnesses to our joys and sorrows, our dreams and fears. Walking into someone’s room is like stepping into their inner world, a map to who they are behind the scenes. And through Mollison’s lens, we are invited to take that step—to see, to understand, and to connect with the lives of others in the most intimate of ways.
References: Mollison, J., 2010. Where Children Sleep. London: Chris Boot.