You may have heard me say that I believe furniture to have almost supernatural subtleties that affect the interior landscape of your mind, but I'll say it again. Naturally having fitting furniture for you is the goal, but how exactly do we do that? Identity is like trying to hold onto a ferret, as soon as you've got a grip on it, they slip right out of your hands.
This is why I don't recommend buying all your furniture (or clothes for that matter) in the same place because it will inevitably look not yours. Some people dig that "i like living in a hotel" look, but I'm of the temperament that too much sterility or impersonal-ness breeds madness.
I painted these wild curtains from plain panels to Pollock-inspired pretties for my stylish neighbor who felt submerged in white. Juxtaposed with her lovely feminine, clean and attentive mix of old and new in her magazine worthy apartment, my pair of Pollock-ed panels added an energized element.
I also get a rise out of mixing centuries, genres, and themes together (with varying success) to create a place entirely new, not reminiscent of something else. This is the road less traveled, but the stylish nomads out there will agree on the worthiness.
Might I add that when you leave it all up to somebody else you pay handsomely for that service? Especially when the items are all brand new. Some couches at Ashley home furniture cost more than my car. And they still look like knock offs!
So, I guess this announces my foray into upholstery and hopefully this thrift store find (below) will be my first project. I've done slipcovers and pillows and curtains and all the kind of three-dimensional covering, but this lovely mock-Victorian sofa would call for a whole new applique.
Note the most fabulous hand-blown glass chandelier in the world from 18th-19th century Italy. Seen in the Columbia Museum of Art while I was recently passing through. If ever OMG were appropriate, this is the time. This baby is about 10 or 12 feet tall. Standing by it phrases like "let them eat cake" and "pass the foie gras" come to mind.
Now, to save the absolute best for last....
Firstly, would you believe this fit into a VW bug? My dear friend Sarah and I went marathon antique shopping in the surrounding counties ("it's always cheaper in the country") and I came across this beauty, a '1920s' steamer trunk that I now believe to be even older, turn-of-the-century or 1890s. Information courtesy of my neighbor who came over for a glass of sweet tea and made me feel like I was on "Antique Roadshow." I plan to leave it be or restore it, all the while using it to house my delightful spools of thread and fabric projects in process.
The bottom drawers fold into one combing large drawer so as to not crush the plumes of the feathers on your hats. Oh, I croon for the olden days. There are even little pockets in the bottom right to slip one's shoes in while relaxing in your train car. The hangers are designed to hold an entire outfit and to stay pressed while traveling.
As Sarah and I helped the old antique's man load this puppy into the hatchback of her new bug, he said "now we're gonna slide this in just like a coffin." This comment would have phased me, but when the hatchback clicked closed, we raced away like bandits (the trunk was had at a very reasonable price).
Unloading with just the two of us proved to be more difficult. I mentioned "this would be a really good time for a boy to show up" and about ten seconds later, one did, and the three of us waddled this big trunk into my abode. Thanks Universe!