In defense of the shadow gap
MANILA, Philippines - Perhaps one of the more mundane marks of modernism on interior design is the absence of an obtrusive baseboard. I should have known this as I tagged my 2D elevations privy to the code of minimalism in the former office where I worked in Manila. In place of a tongue-and-groove turned moulding, a 12x 20 inverted L-shaped recess is used to hide the transition from the wall to floor. Not belonging to any nationality, this universal detail has long been traded and adapted to a democratic language of contemporary respite.
It’s much like the evolution of the humble espadrille — these generic slip-ons originally had noticeable stitching where the canvas upper and jute soles would meet. In recent times, “designer” adaptations tuck in the thick white stitches from view and with a premium. Without deviating too much from the ordinary purpose of hiding the termination between two surfaces, shadow gaps on one hand act as a buffer to prevent the base of a chair or furniture from hitting the wall. A baseboard is there for the simplest of reasons — day-to-day wear from shoe collision, and where there are gaps, the vacuum can clean. The walls — if they could speak — limit pompous decor or help the wall appear to float in weightlessness.
For a studio conversion in 2009, I was completely determined to abstain from the baseboard altogether, or its more introspective brother, the shadow gap. Logically, the monotone of white walls opens doors to a pocket kitchen. The geometry of white chairs fade into monotony as a white wall defense against the overwhelming clutter, for being at home and at work, for a single city-dweller.
Like an ascetic, I had stripped bare all corners. Tiny excesses of paint seemed noticeable however, magnified more without the generous ceiling height of galleries. There is a worldview from the Japanese called wabi wherein refinement is developed by a culture conscious of imperfection. Perhaps these residues were allowable. But maybe that was beside the point.
Since a lot of existing houses and buildings are on a conversion process, the use of a baseboard can still convey the character of its original intent, while still keeping in context of the moment. Be it a thinner profile of a 25- to 50-mm-high baseboard in the same tone as the wall, it can still contain the same purpose but needn’t be too elaborate. It can confidently rise up to replace boiserie but in a thin profile of natural stone or tile or even mid-level like a high-waisted Don Draper or a quirky Mini Cooper. There is clearly no style dictate in which to build. But some governing virtues of order are almost instinctive. There has to be adherence to the soul of a space that offers clues to conform, play up, overlap or abstain completely.
When the baseboard is a lighter or darker tone of the floor it calls to attention its base skirting. In the middle of a yoga stance, a walnut baseboard with very wild grains contrasted with a honey-tiled wood floor distracted me for a few (and accepted, anyhow) seconds. Here’s where an inward-looking recess might apply, or a flat shade as the wall where the whole point of these strengthening postures was to reconnect to one’s core strengths with no other visible noise.
It might fall under the folders of contractor fetishes or obsessive-compulsiveness, but perhaps these transitions are building blocks to connecting the subtleties, or disconnects in everyday life. By lessening the noise we can make room for more “living,” and needing less.
