The first time anyone ever noticed my decorating prowess (tongue still planted) stands out in my mind. After many years of renting, we bought our first humble little home. The kitchen was arguably...um...hideous (royal blue Formica countertops for starters!), but the best feature was that it boasted a buttload of cabinets with space at the top to decorate. I spent the little money I had on stripping the dated wallpaper and buying a deep red paint for the walls (it was 1997 and we were in Arkansas...and I still love red walls). Not able to buy anything new, I pulled out every tchotchke that anyone had ever given me (whether it was kitchen-y or not) and did my best to arrange it all artfully. Someone whose style I highly revered walked into our home for the first time, looked up, smiled and said diplomatically, "You decorate like I do - we have to use what we have!" I was a little embarrassed that she had caught on to my not-so-clever secret, but decided to take it as a compliment...because that was the closest anyone had ever really come to noticing and complimenting my decorating.
We went on to redo one of the bathrooms and repaint/wallpaper a small hallway...doing what finances and skill sets would allow. Later, when we sold this first house that I had put my hand to in a modest way, the buyer (also from Texas) kept saying, "I just love how you've decorated..."
About that same time, I was shopping with my Mom one day and she noticed I kept picking up vintage-looking things. She said, "You and Aunt Tory would have been two peas in a pod. She liked old stuff, too." Aunt Tory was her favorite aunt, so I knew she meant this somewhat positively. Ha! Also, it was the first time somebody brought attention to the fact that I like "old things."
This has been a running joke through the years between my Mom (a.k.a. the classiest lady I know) and me (a.k.a. her less conventional artsy offspring). She (and my Dad) always worked hard to make sure we had new things, the latest and greatest we could afford. The American Dream was in full swing. Every generation was expected to do better, buy newer, go further. We weren't rich, but class was in no short supply around our house. I was always so proud of the home she created and I still love her style. As a little girl, I learned what the terms "Early American" and "French Provincial" meant at her knee. She taught me many things by example regarding decorating, one of which is to use the doorframe of every room as a frame for a vignette that introduces you to that room because that's the first thing you see when you walk in.
The American Dream is not what it used to be. My American generation is perhaps the first one to long so deeply for an ever-elusive sense of peace & stability that was once the norm that our preferences are turned to things we know from our grandmother's and mother's and aunt's homes, with the "don't touch" knocked off. We've learned from our ancestors that life is too short to leave the plastic wrapping on the candles. We actually want to use things once reserved for (maybe) company & "special occasions" that hardly ever came. Many of us actually prefer chippy, rusty, tarnished, crumbly for the approachability factor. Plus, these vintage items also appeal to our desire for recycling and sustainability (which is actually not a new concept, just new words, as past generations would testify).
Mom's homes have always seemed finished, where my homes have always been a work in progress. So, I think my style was almost an insult to her at first or perceived by her as a failure to pass on the tasteful decorating baton; then it was something she seemed concerned for me about, bless my heart. These days, she seems to have come to appreciate my style. I think she's finally understanding that even though our tastes are often different, my style is really an homage to her and even previous generations. (And truth be told, her own style has evolved through the years.)
My theory is that every generation has its' own twist on decorating styles and it usually has to do with giving some sort of sentimental nod to heritage. I am no exception.
To be continued...
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