For a lover of interior decoration and architecture, it can be difficult to decide on a style or theme for your home: you see so much beauty in magazines, blogs, and Pinterest posts boards, that it seems impossible to choose one to stick with for the long term.
As a younger woman, I went through multiple design phases, one of which consisted of yards of crimson
chenille and velvet; my mother dubbed it “French
Bordello”. It was only five years ago that I discovered the style that is
unabashedly, unashamedly ME.
It’s taken a long time to arrive at my style, and it all
began with a Mid Century Modern console. Fifteen years ago, I purchased a low
console from the 1950s, a surprise to my mother because I typically gravitated
towards dark, heavily carved antique furniture, along with forest greens and the
previously mentioned deep crimsons. Still, I bought the console, then decorated
my first studio apartment in neo-medieval splendor (or French Bordello, if you
must). I slept under a claret-colored velvet bedspread, sat in a chair
upholstered in red chenille with green ivy leaves, and ate at a dark brown
antique gate-leg table. The console was woefully out of place, so I hid it
beneath a homemade pleated cloth fashioned from a Ralph Lauren red-and-brown
plaid.
 |
| Cul de Sac, Michell Weinberg |
My next apartment was far less brooding, with a cream
loveseat given to me by an elderly woman from my parents’ church; the red
chenille chair seat reupholstered in aqua ultrasuede and a blue-and-wheat woven
silk on the back; and the 1950s console proudly on display. My bed wore a
vintage bedspread in pinks, aqua, and soft olive greens atop a crisp white
blanket. Pink and purple embroidered pillowcases I’d collected from antique
malls during my teens were finally put to use. (Obviously, my teenage interests
weren’t among the stereotypical dating/football/movies categories.) Perhaps the
change in my apartment décor said something about my emotional states during
those years, or maybe it was simply because I loved too many colors and styles
to decide on one theme.
Ten years later, my style is more defined, and the objects I
own work cohesively, though their styles are seemingly incompatible. To preempt my mother giving my style a moniker, I named it “Delightful Mélange”.
The living room is arranged around an orange
velvet sofa, a jolt of color against soft gray walls and a rug woven in natural and faded navy jute fibers. The 1950s console lives happily across the room from a carved
African drum reused as a drinks table. The antique gate-leg table is flanked by
mismatched chairs, one from the 1830s and the other from the 1960s awaiting reupholstery in olive mohair velvet.
The random art my husband and I collected over the years – prints from a
now defunct art magazine, Randall Munroe’s “United Shapes of
America”, and wrestling photos taken by artist Zia Danger – hold their
own, particularly when surmounted by a bleached deer skull. In the office I
share with my husband, my desk area is decorated with a set of mounted antlers from my maternal
grandfather’s hunting days, and an abstract print in pastels colors, framed in
an ornate silver filigreed frame. Robert's desk is overseen by a watercolor portrait of our older dog, Fred, painted by my
aunt. We intend to commission her to paint another of our young female, Ginger,
sometime after Christmas.
 |
| United Shapes of America, Randall Munroe |
Our bedroom is home to a 1920 Scottish chest of drawers, bedside tables from Baker’s 1949 Far East Collection, and a gaudy Rococo headboard upholstered in creamy linen and gilt to the gills. Despite my desire for a monochromatic soft green bedroom, complete with bed hangings, our bed is clothed in a navy quilted sateen coverlet and soft violet linen sheets: colors I pulled from the Karastan Kirman rug that fills the room. The bedding’s darker colors also serve a definite purpose: to mask the any trace our dogs leave behind after our nightly snuggle sessions in bed.
 |
| Multicolor Panel Kirman, Karastan |
