Tiny: A Story About Living Small

"A house is basically a self-portrait," said someone in the film, Tiny.

I've always loved looking at and photographing small houses, even abandoned ones, even falling-down ones.  At a time in my life when the house I lived in wasn't a fit, I wrote a book called Women and Houses. I never published it, but the manuscript got me into the Breadloaf Writing Conference.

The book's quotations  included this one by Winston Churchill: "We shape our houses, and afterwards, our houses shape us."

When I was living in that house, I collected miniature houses: clay and wood and fabric ones, bird houses, doll houses, charms.

When I was living that house, I used to love looking inside the open windows of other people's houses, especially at night, when other kinds of lives were framed in open windows. The urge to glance into other people's windows (passing by, not going up close like a Peeping Tom) is so common it has a name: crystoscopophilia.

The question of houses and what they mean has always intrigued me.  What is home?  What is beauty? What is comfort?  And--what do we really want to do in houses?  These questions are beautifully addressed in the film (on Netflix), Tiny: A Story About Living Small. I watched the hour-long film and smiled the entire time I was watching it.

I live in the "cottage district" of Alamo Heights--and my house is one of the smallest ones--about 1000 square feet.  It fits perfectly and I love every square inch of it.  Behind my house is a garage apartment where I lead writing groups.  If--back when I was living in a house and a marriage that wasn't a fit for me--I had seen this house, this life, this space for writing, I would have said, "That is it, that is exactly it."

I lived here first as a renter.  After a couple of years, my parents bought the house and gave it to me as a Christmas present--and I was  euphoric! Once it was mine, I put in wood floors, added a screened-in porch, updated the orange and avocado  kitchen.  Year by year, as I could afford it, I've turned it into a place that fits like Goldilocks' bed, just right.

The houses in the film are about 125 square feet--and simply beautiful. The couple who made the film also built the house--for $26,000. Included in the documentary are short interviews with other Tiny-Housers; it's fascinating to see what people can do with spaces the size of my bedroom.  The ceilings are high, and sleeping spaces are always in a loft.

This is a not a project fit for everyone--me, for example.  To actually build a house with my own hands, to have only a shower and a compost toilet, to use a ladder to get to bed: these are not ingredients in my personal fantasy life.  But I can imagine, if I were younger and proficient in building, I might like a tiny house on wheels for a second home.

Zoning is such that you can't just build a tiny house and plop it down anywhere; you have to abide by building codes.  If the house is built on wheels, it can sneak by--because it's considered a temporary structure.

The Tiny House movement is growing. Books like The Big Tiny, a Memoir remind me of the days in the 70s when Joy and I pored over books about hand-made houses--houses built with reclaimed lumber and stained glass windows. If you go to Tiny Houses on the Internet, you'll find great photos and blogs by architects and amateurs who have chosen to go small for a variety of reasons.  Some downsize to the extreme for ecological reasons; some want to challenge the idea that bigger is better; some say that feel they are living larger by living smaller.