i come from a place of love
Let’s take a break for a moment from the ads, the endorsements, the products, etc. and let me slow down a second to connect. Believe me — I’m not this sell-y person. Sure I’m selling something but at the end of the day, I do this because I absolutely fucking love it and want to share that love with the world.
But I’m going to be honest with you again… sometimes people just want my products. “Where can I get that rug?” “Where do you buy all of your art?” I laugh a little because I know any answer I give will never capture the magic of seeing something put together with love. A rug is just a rug sometimes. Its how you use it that makes people see it and want it. For a lot of people, that’s all they want from me: an easy transaction without any further involvement. Whenever I get vulnerable, some sociopaths thinks that’s their opportunity to pounce. One guy even got upset about signing up for a newsletter and didn’t want my so-called “life”. Just wanted my finds, no opinions. So for those of you who put up with my marketing and are starving for some connection, I write this for you.
I want to tell you why I am so jazzed about what I do. But first… let me ask you:
When is the first time you looked at a painting that made you cry immediately out of overwhelming joy and wonder?
I would like to say I was 23 and it was in Paris. At the Musee d’Orsay. Van Gogh. Murder of Crows. It was the same trip where a group of girls and I… I still don’t remember if they were friends or just some acquaintances or if I spent any time with them at all in the study abroad program except for on this trip… stayed up all night. We were not even drunk, we just had enough joy to want to stay up all night and roam the streets. And Radiohead was playing there. That weekend. But we couldn’t afford to go. That’s the thing with being from affluent parents - I never had any money myself. That’s not a complaint. I was in Paris, and not on my dime. But I never had my own dimes. So we tore down the giant subway poster of Radiohead. I took half, another girl who was my best friend for the night, took the other. And now it hangs up on my dining room wall.
So anyway, the Van Gogh. It was on that trip I turned a corner in the Musee d’Orsay and there it was. A giant blue sky and black nightmarish smudges and yellow. And I audibly gasped.
When actually it was just this year. It was a surprise trip to the Hammer Museum in LA. We had seen Oppenheimer and had been severely disappointed. Going to the museum with someone else is always a dumb idea. It defeats the purpose. Its meant for self-reflection and wonder. You can’t do either properly in the presence of anyone else. Begrudging. Impatient. I purposely took my time though on this one. It was good I did, because when I turned that corner and saw a 15 foot tall man on a bicycle, a fiery benevolent shadow rising above him and me and I somehow knew it was our soul. I wept this time and I didn’t even think to be embarrassed.
This is why I decorate my home. This is why I do crazy things like paint murals on my bedroom ceiling walls. Decorating a home is not an indulgence. Its not pre-requisite. Its a wordless story that we tell about ourselves. If I could tell my story, this is what it would say. It requires a weird forgiveness of yourself as you do everything right and wrong. Wrong because everything that is creative is wrong at first. Being creative means being wrong a lot. I have to forgive myself over and over but still continue to strive for that singular moment — the connection between the story inside me and the world I create. I can’t make anyone love it or me, but I hope if anything, I can help you understand me. That we both can have that moment of being totally vulnerable yet free.
That was exactly what I felt when I first saw the finished mural now on the ceiling of my bedroom:
Mural by Kailee Collar
Kailee came to me at the end of three back-breaking days of Sistine Chapel-ceiling-level painting and said, "It's time. Don't look too hard, or you'll see all the mistakes." Here's a little hint about me: I love mistakes.
I entered the room and was immediately taken aback by the feeling—the bottom and ceiling dropped, and suddenly I was alone with that connection to my most vulnerable parts. The soul parts, I guess. The imagination. The love. Okay, it's a bunch of shapes, and it's just black and white. We originally wanted to paint it in a bunch of colors, but a sudden moment of creativity and the openness to feel the right path versus diagramming and plotting everything without question, allowed us to change our minds and direction.
Why did I choose hands, birds, and clouds? Because they convey a sense of longing and freedom. The hands grab for the birds, but they themselves are disembodied and free. Some hands still long to capture the bird, but the birds escape, and the hands are not angry. What will they do with the birds if captured? Let them go. They just want to hold the bird for a brief second. The bird is not in danger. Does it make any sense? Hell no. I didn't want anything to make sense. I just wanted to be surrounded by the emotions they convey.
I do this because this is how I learn to love myself. I've been missing this connection most of my life, and it has been my greatest joy discovering it for the first time. I only wish to help anyone who is also searching for that missing connection.
What’s next?
One of the things I’m craving a little bit more in this main bedroom is a bit of “architectural digest”. In case you’re wondering what that’s not capitalized and in quotes, it’s because it’s a quality and not a proper noun. It describes elegance. And I’m not talking expensive necessarily. I’m talking refinement. I like to make my house a mixture of two things: punk and elegance. One of my favorite movies growing up was Sid and Nancy and I loved the rococo fruitwood paneled British world clashing against the absolute opposite. I figure this balance of two opposite elements keeps the space dynamic. Too much punk, and I feel like I’m living in my first dorm room. Too much elegance and I hate myself for being a poser. I really really hate all these fake elegant homes.
Anywho, I’m installing walnut paneling - as in:
And then I intend to put something like this on the wall with the map:
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. I would really REALLY appreciate a comment below! Tell me about the first time you got all emotional about a painting. Tell me why you love interior design. This is your moment to connect!
