Home is Where the Art Is

I am what you call a nester.  Whether I’ve lived in a big house or a tiny apartment – or the just-right place I call home now – I’ve always taken great pleasure in creating an environment that brings together things I love.


I see the smooth black rocks arranged around a candle and recall several wonderful, romantic days and nights in Mexico.  Every time I look at the striped glass pitcher that lives on top of my kitchen cabinet, I am reminded of my grandmother, Hilda, and my great grandmother who used it before her.  The metal dog with the chipped paint displayed on a shelf was my father’s when he was a boy and makes me feel closer to him just seeing it.  Some things carry the aura of memory with them, and others – pictures and fabrics and books – were chosen by me because I love the colors, or the feel of them between my fingers, or the ideas they contain are ideas I want to try on, or they simply make me happy.

The small shrine pictured here is simply called “Home.”  I immediately responded to the picture of a white house bathed in the warm light of a sunset, and chose to include with it a piece of old velvet – in that mossy green I love so much – and some pieces of old rattan chair back, which speak to me of humble histories and the familiar, comforting feeling of home.

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