My childhood home was......let's just call it eclectic. My mother made her own pottery, dabbled in watercolors and photography, mastered the art of macrame and batik and never found a piece of depression glass she didn't want to bring home. Turned wooden bowls were one of her favorite collectables and flow-blue china plates made her heart sing. Her book collection filled several walls of shelves and her "craft" supplies spilled out of every available cabinet.
(Note: We lived in a 1000 square foot home with two adults, three children, two large, ill-behaved dogs and an assortment of cats. It was crowded. It was messy a lot of the time.)
Now, my best friend (let's call her Marsha Smith) came from a different sort of home. Her house was incredibly neat and orderly all of the time. Mrs. Smith took immense pride in her home making skills and felt that her house was a reflection of her womanly talents (I kid you not). All of the furniture in Marsha's house was the same color. They had matching end tables, a coffee table and COASTERS. All of the lamp shades were still wrapped in the manufacturer's cellophane and the couch had a plastic covering. I never saw any knick-knacks, tchotchkes, magazines or live plants. There was no art-work on the walls, because Mr. Smith didn't want any holes in the drywall. Every wall in the entire house was painted off-white. Needless to say, I loved Marsha's house. It was organized and clean, with no clutter in sight. As a child I often wished I lived in a house like the Smith's instead of my own.
Flash forward 40 years. You could not force me to live in a house like Marsha's (even if it included Mrs. Smith, wearing an apron and happily making crumb-free snacks every afternoon like she did when we were kids). What I understand now, that I definitely didn't understand then, is that Marsha's house was terribly predictable and boring. It lacked any hint of personality. In an attempt to have the perfect living space, or maybe because she just lacked imagination, Mrs. Smith created a Sears Roebuck showroom, not a home.
I hope I'm not coming across as mean! I loved Marsha's home. Every member of the Smith family was very proud of that house, and Mrs. Smith really did enjoy her role as a happy homemaker. But yikes people!! No pictures on the walls because you don't want holes in the drywall? Ever heard of spackling??
What the Smith house lacked, that my house had in abundance, was personality. My mom was so interested and so curious about everything in the world. She loved to surround herself with things that made her happy and expressed her personality. An original painting from New Orleans, a braided mat made by the Amish in Wisconsin or an Inuit soapstone carving from Nunavut - you never knew what she might bring home next. And she had absolutely no concerns about punching holes in the drywall. She was creating gallery walls forty years before they became trendy. My mother was a brilliant, talented and fascinating woman. Her home was a direct reflection of that. And, as a result, it was a curated space!
Stay tuned for Curated Spaces - Part Two
Danna
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