Waterhouse Bathroom

The bathroom adjacent to the Waterhouse Art Studio is unofficially known as the Waterhouse. The Waterhouse is quite large and is one of the few bathrooms in the Manor that can accommodate several occupants, though its main design principle typically precludes such a congress. The bathroom is shaped like an octagon. On each wall hangs a large Symbolist fresco representing a hallowed Art or Science. Philosophy is, naturally, perambulating Greeks, white-robed and ponderous, earnestly stumped by questions of Spirit and Matter. Chemistry is a solemn fairy bending aforementioned Matter to her will. Shepherds or rock-wanderers look on enchanted, but the fairy’s face, hieratic in its stillness, bent towards them at a sorrowing angle, remains as unimpressed as a true chemist having wrested all mystery from the world. Next to Chemistry is Physics, and then Pastoral Poetry (Virgil), Dramatic Poetry (Aeschylus), and Epic Poetry (Homer, blindly optimistic).

And in the middle is a large marble column around which are arranged four brave toilets, shit facing art as its equal. Each toilet is topped by a little golden faucet and a little golden sink, and flanked by a slim golden stand offering spiced orange soap and a Note of the Day, still wrapped in Pneuma-Gold. Today’s note says:

“Live. Laugh. Dance only when no one is watching.”

But what’s particularly engrossing about Waterhouse isn’t its art, though one occasionally feels, and doesn’t dislike feeling, like a newborn babe being blessed by a solemn ring of prophets while taking a shit. No, what’s fascinating about Waterhouse is its floor.

The floor isn’t a mirror, exactly, for it tends to reflect something altogether too pleasant. The face staring back at you from the golden lacquered surface of the floor is a softened one. It has taken on a virginal radiance that fuses together all pores. Your eyes have enlarged and darkened, entombing their pupils. Looking down at this bathroom floor means reading a different story from the one you’re accustomed to in the mirror, and you can stay here for many hours captivated by your embellished reflection.

When you look up, you’ll find that the painting you’re staring at is not the same.

Unbeknownst to many, who lost in their own thoughts ignore all the small signs of incremental mutation, the Waterhouse functions as a sort of gear that spirals its occupants out in different directions once they’re done. The center column continuously and imperceptibly rotates, meaning you need to pay attention to where you came from and where you want to go if you’re not to lose your bearings.