The answer to that question comes from three simple facts: lack of a trust fund, observation and curiosity.
Lack of a trust fund: Our bed tells a story
My parents were gracious enough to pass along heirlooms from my grandmother to me at around the time I left for college. I've always had a fondness for the world of antiques and vintage finds.
I have also always been a sucker for sentiment. I literally become attached to every
heirloom, every story behind that heirloom. I knew some of the pieces handed down to me had monetary value. I couldn't part with any of
my lovely pieces. I Couldn't even do it for the money, which, at the time I was in desperate need of.
I decided to start searching for my own pieces. The fine antique stores I
frequented were too pricey for me. I was lucky to be eating and paying
for essentials, therefore, an extra side table was not in the budget. 20 years ago I started street shopping. Re-purposing. I would go out on
any day of the week to look for pieces on the side of the road. I know
this is common practice nowadays, perhaps even an industry of sorts, but back
then you were a little nutty for doing it. Once I found a piece that had
potential I would take it home and make it work in my space, somehow. My
love for painting furniture came from my pieces found on the side of the road
that just needed a little TLC.
I was filling my space with goodies and my lack of funds was not impacting my style. Not long after graduating college I married my husband, Dave. Our first move was to the metropolis of Washington, D.C. We found a one bedroom condo about a mile from the Lincoln Memorial complete with a stacked washer and dryer. Another jackpot moment for Dave and I. It was during our DC days that my love for all things vintage exploded. Each weekend entailed jaunts out to the Virginian countryside. Shop after shop for miles. Those trips always reminded me of the line "one man's junk is another man's treasure." We found so many treasures during that time. The re-purposing trend wasn't popular back then, prices were good and inventory was everywhere. We were quickly filling our new space.
 |
I wanted a real bed frame. In particular, I wanted something rustic, metal and old. At that point in my life I was becoming more focused on details and I knew exactly what I wanted. I began to scour the ads. Low and behold, one morning I found the ad I had been looking for.
Dave and I went to look at the frame. It was a steel gate used at a home in the mid 1800's, complete with the original brass finials. An artist had welded the frame together and it was absolutely gorgeous, one of a kind. After seeing the bed Dave knew I wasn't leaving without it.
While our finances had been improving we certainly weren't rolling in the dough. We put our heads together and decided if we didn't buy groceries for about 5 months we could purchase the bed frame. Such amazing concepts and ideas we come up when we're in the midst of our youth.
We bought the bed and for the next 5 mothns we ate every meal at my parent's house. Today the bed still resides in our room and we are forever grateful to my parent's for feeding us.
Regardless of how beautiful the bed is, the design element would not be the same if it didn't have the story to tell. The story enriches the space.
Observation: the fiery redhead from New Orleans
My grandmother was a fiery red head from New Orleans. A beauty from the World War II era. A professional woman during a time when women typically didn't have "careers" she worked in the field of cosmetology. She was pure glamour. |
Her consistent design accent. Gilded gold. Everywhere. And it worked. There were paintings and photographs displayed. She was also a gardener with a love for lilacs and fresh flowers.
I observed virtually everything she did while growing up. I watched how she gardened. The plants and flowers she chose created a landscape of luxury. I watched how she set the table. Always fine china, silver, cloth napkins and serving bowls. I watched how she made her bed. Each night the sheets were turned down and always felt like satin. I watched how she folded her linens. Neatly aligned as if to display a fine work of art. I watched how she sipped her chicory coffee while listening to big band orchestras as if we were sitting at Cafe Du Monde each and every time.
It was as if I was living an apprenticeship. Learning all the tools of the trade. I'd like to think that I didn't waste a moment taking it all in.
Curiosity: Grow
Through plentiful observation and difficult financial times I learned that the major contributing design factor in my life has been curiosity.A sense of curiosity has allowed me to take my observations through the years and tweak them to my particular need or desire. Curiosity has opened my eyes to think outside the box and explore concepts that might not otherwise have been options.
My curious nature has allowed me to mismatch patterns, mix old with new, explore color, tear down walls and reinvent unique spaces. While curiosity may have the fewest words it is by far the most important element to my design and allows me to accept and take risk.
My design will inevitably always tell a story. The story will change, but the observations I've made over the years will always impact the outcome. Each observation adds interest and allure.
At some point I thought I would replace all of my roadside finds with new, clean pieces. I assumed that once my bank account grew I would want to grow out of re-purposing. The irony is I love a roadside find more today than I did 20 years ago. I love the feeling of bringing a weathered and worn piece home and giving it new life. Remember, the lack of funds cannot stop good design, rather, encourages re-birth and imagination.
