Disorder beyond whimsy, order just shy of batty

During my interior decorating excursions (read: moments of creative bliss) I happened upon two cardinal sins I see far too often in who I like to call the "aesthetic philistines" spaces: white walls and empty wall space. I realized this one day while at a home that had no paint on any walls, no coherence to any room and no sense of fluidity throughout the abode. Quite literally a mish-mash of fleeting “oh, well that’s nice” objects, I felt very confused, stressed even, which
does not a home make.

A home should have a general theme according to its architecture, each room corresponding to it in a different way, with distinct personal touches to each object, whether it be a grand piano covered in framed family photos, a giant porcelain rooster on the kitchen counter (I’ve already acquired mine despite the sad fact that he fits nowhere as my space reflects my income ever-so quaintly)



your coffee table books on display (my nearly shameful collection is ever-expanding thanks to Archivia nearby.



or your favorite flowers on the table as you walk in (I recommend heading to the flower district for some fantastic silk flowers in a vase with epoxy water – mine fool nearly everyone),



your home should be distinctly you, in whatever way you can explore it to be.

I’ve found that I have far too many facets to explore a distinct theme to its zenith. There’s the prepster of my past who loves monogram and bright colors,



the New Yorker of my present who loves black and a bit grungy (as does captain jack, the current tenant),

the nature lover of my childhood - responsible for the emu egg on my desk,



the antique lover of my mothers influence responsible for my framed late 1800’s line drawings of French lawyers as well as “the alphabet” by William Nicholson,





the Oyster Bay inspired nautical explorer responsible for my sofa,



the rugged Montana girl who can’t wait to peg up a gorgeous black and white brindle cow skin (who was treated in the Native American fashion) on her only remaining blank wall, and I'm not sure where the "molded from an actual baby pig piggy bank" fits in, but I'm sure I'll identify her soon enough.



I believe in things that can transform over the years and never invest in what can’t. My alphabet will one day be in my children’s play room, the lawyer prints in the study, the rooster in my kitchen, the pig in my bedroom and cow skin in the bar/Montana themed man-room (one has to give her guy space for his shenan’s). I obviously have big ideas for my future real estate, but I believe in dreaming big while loving what you have and never compromising taste.

However I decorate, it always has a sense of disorder beyond whimsy and order just shy of batty. However you decorate, I believe it should always have a mature and classic taste that is distinctly yours, representing and evolving with you, formed from a solid base that is both grounding and evolutionary in its cohesiveness. So, while I'm happily nesting in my not-so-new apartment, I’ll be on the edge of my seat waiting for the chance to decorate my next one, and fully intend to weasel my way into helping friends with theirs in the meantime, my workplace lending itself perfectly to the task.