Interior Lives.

Letterpress Drawer.

I have been musing lately on the construction of home and what it says about the person doing the building of the interior of a house. I see the deliberate (and haphazard) placing of objects as a way to interrupt the inner life of the decorator. I’ve been thinking a lot about asking questions around this idea, as I see a habit of the collection of objects, their arrangement and the decoration of a house in the women in my life as being particular pervasive. My close friends, my aunts, my mother, my grandmothers, my cousins all are fantastic decorators with taste that ranges with age as well as upbringing and socioeconomic class. Regardless of the monetary resources available or not available to them, they all take a house and make it very much into a home.

I want to ask questions with these images, rather than find answers. What does certain stuff mean? Handmade or mass-produced? New or used? How does juxtaposition of objects lend its self to further interpretation? What does it mean to hold onto objects and place them in our homes? Finding the questions to ask is always part of the process. There are ideas brewing to turn this new obsession of mine into something lucrative, for real this time.

Bones and Plates. Bits.

Katie’s ability to create a home that looks and feels exactly like her personal aesthetic. Muted color palate on the warm side, organic forms, odd details, worn edges, old objects with a silent history. Her house is exactly as I pictured it would be.

Fireplace in the Den. Books in the Den.

I’ve been thinking about this, perhaps, because of the distinct lack of my own space to construct. Sure, my room is well constructed but it is not the same as being able to make a home for yourself. I long for the time in my when I again will be able to create a place for myself, a place to come home to.

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