Infuse Character here

Decorating with collections can be tricky. We get on a collection and then realize, how do I display to love it?

Few ideas:
Group like things together-
 This is probably the easiest solution but it also makes it  
  look cohesive and lush, instant eye candy. Infuse
 character.

Use common things uncommonly-
 A bowl full of antique doorknobs, hang pez on the wall,
 globes hanging from ceiling.

Frame your collections-
 Put them in a case, in vintage fruit crates on wall or some
 custom shelving made to size.

Recreate an era-
 This is easy for kitchen collectibles, all sorts of kitchen
 items of a certain era mixed with an old stove and
 furnishings.

Mix old with the new-
 A wall of vintage radios mixed in with modern furniture,
 old bottles lining a kitchen window in a new, state of the
 art eating area.

Rotate your collectibles-
 Mix them up every so often, holidays, seasons, children
 growing up or interests change. Best time is when you
 have to clean them. Box them up right away.

Use what you have-
 You might not know you even have a collection. Look
 what you have a lot of and see if it works as a collection.
 You would be surprised.

PUSH THE ENVELOPE-
 There are no set rules, you are unique and show it.
 I collect vintage metal moth ball containers, why? Not
 sure but I love the graphics. My son collects animals that
 are made of shells, major dust collectors I am afraid. He is his mothers son.

Signs of Life for those who Judge

I had an acquaintance who although was very much into shopping vintage items, she had become one of the Stepford Wives. Everything had become controlled, had a perfect spot, children/animals were not to be in rooms and either crated most of the day or sent to quietly play in rooms with one specific toy. Nothing had any meaning but when she put a pic on instagram it had that run of the mill nothing flair of a staged presence. Great, she mastered duplication. She was meeting some design esthetic that was conceived by others.

A couple things wrong with that scenario, people with character, penache, love of memories, etc.... don’t live for “perfect” instagram posts. They use their instagram to share ideas and not set up the most contrived setting and wait for the response. I always felt I had to respond to her posts or she would get mad. She verbalized when others didn't respond and so why wouldn’t I be included in that gripe? In my world, everything does not have to have a perfect curated place, sometimes things evolve into where they end up.

Ms. Stepford, keeping her anonymous, also wants everyone elses world to be as hers. How you raise your children, making sure your spouse works, in addition to him cooking, shopping and does virtually everything. She also questioned and stated who you should associate with, what politics, etc... I think I burned out on so many “helpful” hints. I have grown children her age and they all work, eat and are productive. So I think I am good there. She still has ones that are ten and under with a husband who does everything, good luck. So I wasn’t upset when we parted ways. I felt strangled by no toys, no kids artwork, seen and not heard, robots, uncomfortable encounters when the children wanted to share their enthusiasm and mom told them this is HER friend. Her statements that weekends were for her and not for any sport the kids would want to participate in. Large dogs and pups crated all day only to be let out to do their business. I felt those canines pain.

Judgemental of others and how they kept their homes was always at the top of her list. I listened and so I never let her come to my house. I am a lover of things that comes through the eye, evokes emotion and other playful memory filled sparks. I think I have mentioned before my mother was a minimalist, very mod but minimalist. I tended to go the other the direction. I love textiles, ethnic, artsy, whatever but they have to bring something to the table. I love how one thing plays off another. I would walk in a room a million times to see how it effects me. It is my easthetic, no one else’s.

Some offspring of creativity would be more up my alley. Currently reading several books on clutter, collecting and chaos. A lot of work goes into collecting, shopping, loosely curating. In addition, there is that visual of my now deceased friend, “Don’t deny yourself!!!” Across a flea market, with strangers agreeing as I walk on by. Yes many of a time I just get what I think is my thing to get. I will work out where it goes later. So it evokes memories, such as the exclamation across a flea market. That is what I think is important. I am not discounting minimalism, I think that evokes other memories and emotion.  Sure I want one of those rooms too and then I want the rest as a cavalcade of personal, ever-changing emotional eye candy.

                                                

Your family, your rock, your design inspiration

As the holidays are fast approaching, the clambering for decor, family, time and the ease of presentation is upon us. I was in my garage this morning looking for an adequate shipping box for some mid century Ben Siegel plates, it dawned on me that here we are at the holiday threshold and where are those darn giant fall wreaths? Or did I get new ones? What was my last thoughts when packing things up in 2016? Who knows, at this point it either is the hair color or age for me.

 So the scramble is what gets everyone. Do I want to emit this put together home, lifestyle, etc... with my outside decor? Of coarse I do! Is that for me or my family? It is for both. My family, as small as it may be, is what keeps me grounded. Each member is an equation of what keeps me focused. They trust that I have them as my main focus, the center of my heart.

I begin to relax realizing that the wreaths will show themselves, I got this. My family in their infinite wisdom know I will get the holidays moving again. But what is it like for the harried masses that subcumb to commercials upon commercials of have to’s or should haves? I think about it for about two seconds and move on. Squirrel!

I didn't do cards this year, I didn't buy gifts, I didn't put up a tree, I didn’t do much of anything in respects to traditional holiday expectations. The majority of my offspring are adults and the final teen is a 40 year old in disguise and I am convinced he was born that way. No one has a list or is asking about when Santa is arriving. No regrets, just a casual affair with holiday dinner on Christmas Eve and hanging out.

This past year has been a long stretch of figuring out what or who I am. Always in some sort of identity underling role, I have had to step out and announce who I am and why. Not easy for a confident wallflower. Linda, who has been gone for almost two years, still guides me along. My mantra, WWLD. I do have people who fill in for bits of her energy but it definitely isn’t that compact dynamo with the spikey blonde tuffs of hair, loosing her Mary Kay in my truck, carrying her cell phone in her bra, yelling at me to not deny myself and always planning our next expedition on a nickel.

As I write this it is hard to hold back what she meant to me. Sniffle. No one compares, no one should. So I find that if i get up in the morning at some ungodly hour, that I get a jump on life and the meaning of it. It doesn't bring her back, memories don’t seem to dim, the hurt is still strong. And sometimes I just want to scream as to why so many evil parasitic people get to walk this planet and injure so many and a one who gave so much light doesn’t. An age old question when good leaves us and bad gets to partake.

So holidays are hard as they are for a vast majority of people. It was Lindas favorite time for working our businesses and getting families together. I sat down this morning with coffee at roughly 2 am and reviewed my inventory, made lists, transferred information and analyzed what to do next. Motivation is to clear my kitchen of inventory overflow.  Boundaries of “stuff”.  Set with holiday angst comes rejuvenation. More seriousness. Perhaps even moving forward in developing something more concrete. Taking chances, finding that source to catapult forward. Not trying to sound like an ad of coarse but hopeful.

You had me at steam engine

After thoughts on flea market weekend. Beyond the fact the heat and humidity were crazy intolerable, the show I had done this weekend have brought some things into perspective. The show name of coarse involved barn/farm motifs. I catered to this in a very loose sense. Some have taken it to the end all extreme. I began to mull over the events focus.
Reading an article this morning in current issue of "Where Women Create", Kim Leggett of City Farmhouse Style discusses her evolution from leaving her every day position to opening an antique shop, to shows, writing, decorating etc.. developing her farmhouse style. She clearly has seen the move to that direction. The interest in taking an urban dwelling and bringing a primitive earthy feel seems to have an overwhelming response. This got me thinking.

                                 

I, on the other hand, feel that it really comes from our roots or our perceived roots. I come from a German background steeped in transportation, steam engines, heavy metal, the ultimate of form of engineering transferred into function of movement. With that, travel from city to towns and what they have to offer is another feature. Travel to Berlin to the opera house, Baden Baden the steam baths, Munich for holiday overload in decor and eats, etc.. these are the functional result. I connect with this process and the outcome.

                                          

I gravitate to primitive wood pieces of foundry forms or molds curved, metals, industrial pieces that are used in manufacturing. Primitive not in a barn find item but primitive to the multisensory interlocking three dimensional. Then I look to art of consequence, bold, firm, rich and not necessarily  comforting. Sometimes an item of kitsch thrown in the mix. This has always been my esthetic since creating my space as a child.


                                   

The barn/ farm or urban farm, has become the standard that everyone tends to emulate but unfortunately every said home is basically lacking individuality. Each a copy of each other, each a product of a trend. Not timeless, not reflecting the personalities, not a single spark creating an emotion of wonder. Shabby chic became something else, painted chalkware furniture a torturous result of Suzy homemaker gone wild.
That's fine but keeping up with the design Joneses has its limitations. It I so necessary to find your voice, find what makes you move and feel, find the inspiration. Don't let trends dictate, don't let ones kitchen or farm table be YOUR flavor. Each space unique, each space a product of you and each has to survive your brand of life.

It's not your mothers flea market

The Flea Market, car boot sales, trash and treasure markets, jumbo sales, whatever you call them, they were starting to become this dying event in the 1990s and early 2000s. With the exception of Rose Bowl. Rose bowl just got bigger and then divided into sections. Todays Flea Markets are a thing, a rage, a community. It is a coming together of like tastes, like minds and friends.

There are markets that I have deemed for the "linen ladies". Shoppers in earthtone linens with a penchant for rough, rusty, farm/barn remnants to bring home and decorate. They appear to all know each other, try to haggle but aren't completely dedicated to it and love to acquire. To see and be seen. It's fun to watch and more interesting to understand. The human condition, at least the condition of it shopping.

Then there are the markets that are for those in the “biz”. I am in the biz so to me this is fun. There is no holds barred, always wiggle room, lots of banter and buying in volume. A seller/buyer paradise. Bringing trucks up to the entrance, loading, strapping. It is a wonderful filling sight. Love of the haul, love of the whole event. This is the industry loving flea markets.

Then there are those that are somewhere in the middle and haven't found their beat as of yet. Those, they will find themselves or will disband. I have send two in the last year just have no direction and fall apart.

Flea Markets have become thematic, with an emphasis on farms, barns, rusty and chippy. Dealers are raiding the landscape of America to find the best farm find tucked for years in a dark corner. I think California has exhausted their plethora of hidden gems. Dealers are on the road Instagramming their trips and finds. I follow the tales of acquisition with amazement and excitement. To know those things are not forgotten, lost or destroyed, is a joy.

At beginning of September, I have my own Flea Market to tackle. It is themed Farm and has plenty of chippy barn relics. I see the photos of vendors finds and I know that it is the usual fair. Try to bring unusual items that touch on the theme but transcend. So as flea markets become even more popular and seem to run their circuit, customers will buy their arm full of treasures and vendors will continue to scout for those great finds. 

Collecting, grouping, arranging and it is all work, fun work

In the last few weeks I have begun grouping several types of items for sale. Not intentionally, it just sort of happened. I thought for me, I love it. I am in the business of "stuff", so that makes it difficult to not group them, but my own crazy varied easthetic verses work related becomes blurred. I have fallen into the rhythm, "do what you love, love what you do". It is on my business cards, although in German. So I am fortunate. The twist is that those lines do get blurred and unproductive at times.

                                                      

                                         

Yes, I ended up with arms and digits. Not sure why but I did. 

So currently I am on a vintage/antique quilt kick. More importantly a cotton feed sack quilt kick. Although I ran into this particular rayon quilt topper. I don't do toppers generally. Beautiful prints and that great weighted flowy feel. Quilts are such a product of love. Whether you hand stitch or machine, it really is a testament of time and a perseverance. Some just manage to come together and some I fear, look like a struggle. The baby block rayon is a personal choice. I can back it and then figure out what to do with it. I may love it for awhile. 

Crazy quilts are yet another favorite. This particular 1930's is made with Calico dresses and what not in the Appalachians. Again I love it but I can't love everything. So it will be one I hold back for awhile. The one I thought that would not sell, sold right away. This one I thought would fly off the shelf.

Picked up two childrens quilts. One has patches lovingly sewn on. Both are from the thirties.

Feed sack quilt from the thirties again but backing is newer. Found two cutter quilts for projects . Then two others have sold

Quilts are a funny thing for me. I love them but they really aren't my thing. My personal ones are men's twead jackets in a block, a bark cloth one, and then some that are just woolrich. The only other is one I got fo the trailer is beautiful yellows. It is hard to really know why I would want to pick up any. 

New Week Rising With Eisenberg

Sometimes when you sit to write an entry for your blog, all the ideas and clever words just escape you. For two weeks I have had such great entry ideas and then when I sit down, bam-gone. Unbelievable. In theory I should just write the moment something comes to mind. Unfortunately, the situation doesn't always present itself.

This week I read an article, "Sorry, No one Want Your Parents Stuff", by Richard Eisenberg. He equates us to the IKEA generation and basically we are lost. No one wants the china pattern, no one wants the records, etc... Untrue!

                        

Yes we are of a generation that, yes, sometimes buys at IKEA. Shit I do. Look at any high end mag and I can spot the IKEA light or kitchen rack. For that matter the tiny house world heavily uses the clever storage innovations IKEA carries. BUT, I max a ton of stuff. Most of my house is vintage in some form or fashion, but I do shop IKEA, Restoration Hardware and PB.

 

Who is to say that I cant mix my Eames lounger and ottoman with my deco leopard theatre seats with my ikea 4 x 4 Expidit bookcase? No one! It really is up to us to see what works and what there is a  market for.

                       

Eisenberg tries to push us into a category when in reality that is completely unrealistic. He must not have any concept of the trend that exists. Through limitless Facebook and social media, you can find the appropriate outlet for those items Eisenberg deems garbage. Estate sales are all the rave. Devotees of this phenom plan their weekends and destinations according to estate sale listings.

I find that people are tired of the throwaway society and are working to not only recycle their cans and use their own bags at grocery stores, they want to own something from the past and find new meaning in it. Connect with our parents and grandparents. Now that does not include the fact that some extremes exist.

Last week a young man in his twenties came into my friends shop in a beige leisure suit of polyester. Quintessential seventies and the worst part of it. Some things should remain in the past because they were not that great to begin with.

So for Eisenberg, well maybe things didn't work out for him, but the rest of us? Let us wallow in our grandparents china and bad polyester leisure suits. There is a lid for every pot.