a banister - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The banister was a twirl of a branch, tamed by the carpenter's hand. The grain flowed as water might, waves of comforting browns. Under the lamp-shine it was nature's art, something that soothed right to the soul.
The bannister arced like flowing water with the exact same smoothness it must have done on the architects sketch. Perfection in dark wood. A piece like that would have cost more than the maid's annual salary and then some. From above, it appeared to float over the wide spiral staircase with spectral ease. On closer inspection, it was supported with the most ornate wrought iron balustrades that appeared to grow from the stairs themselves and blossom upward.
The bannister, like the rest of the place, was an attempt at a sort of natural modernism. It reminded Autumn of the expensive backyard fences in the mansion district. If crudely done it could have been quite the most ugly way to guard stairs she'd ever seen, yet it was actually quite easy on the eye. Though it lacked the ornate carvings of other homes, the edges were smooth and the lustre of the wood brought a hint of the forest to an otherwise urban dwelling.
The banister had no doubt been the brainwave of the original owner, something they'd asked the builders for. Every other home had the spindles in white, dark wood or pine. This one had all of them in a repeating pattern that drew the eyes to linger on them longer than was wise. Perhaps when they were new the effect wasn't quite so bad, perhaps even the false brass fixtures looked better back then, but the effect now was beyond premature aging and the banister was the first thing the buyers saw when walking in. Autumn shook her hair as if a solution might tumble out, none did. The sellers weren't particularly interested in even the most basic of home staging ideas, asking for any kind of DIY would be like asking the winter wind to just warm up a tad.
The bannister was from the era when ornate carvings were no longer in fashion, but the minimalist look hadn't quite taken hold. The effect wasn't bad, the straight rectangular spindles being interrupted on the landing with an inserted square of geometric design. All in all it was quite pleasing, attractive even. Autumn took several shots, she never knew which photographs would make it into the brochure until they were developed, but more choice was always better.
The bannister was less a thing of beauty than an exercise in frugality. The spindles were mean strips of bare pine placed too far apart to be a safe for a small child. The hand rail was just the same, only far dirtier. The heavy iron nails were visible without even close inspection. The only positive thing to be said was that it was solid, and even that could be a disadvantage to the next owner who would most certainly renovate.
The bannister was no more than rope threaded through wrought iron rods. Each rod rose from its wooden stair and soon began to twist like a candy cane, until finally forming a shepherd's crook shape at the top.
The staircase twisted just as tightly as any medieval castle and the stairs were stone. Upon the grey wall was a bannister, black in the gloom, gently curving upward out of sight. There were no spindles to be seen, giving it the appearance of floating an inch from the plaster.
The house had been cleaned in a hurry, that much was easy to tell without even stepping inside. While the floor was vacuumed and the shelves tidied, no-one had given a thought to the banister. I suspect it was once bare pine, simply varnished in clear lacquer like many of the local houses, but some bright spark had spray painted it white some time ago. From the nobble at the base to the rail that ran up the stairway was a dark grey scum from months of use without being wiped. I know that some wouldn't mind but I just can't abide dirt of any kind. Stepping in was obligatory, touching the banister was not.
The banister was beautiful, delicately hand crafted from the finest oak. The finish smooth and elegant. The poles forged from steel swirled in the most enchanting way. It was simply beautiful.
The bannister was worn down, smooth from the countless hands that had run over it. Young, old, tall, and small alike had run their hands over that bannister, walking up and down as the grand clock at the top of the stairs ticked the hours away. Students dressed in prim and proper uniforms made their way up and around the school, and yet all of them had used those stairs at some point. They had to.