As I have mused before, I suspect that one’s sense of how to construct space is handed down, absorbed even, from those in our lives that shape us. I am no exception to this. In fact, I may be a shining, gleaming example of this.
Like my mother, I am obsessed with the nag for everything to be in it’s right place and container dependent. For my mother, it is baskets. For me, it is clearly labeled boxes. I am not sure how I feel about this, how much I probably show about my inner life to those few who visit my living space. I do know, however, that it feels enormously important to place and style and collect.