If you know me, which you probably do because you're my mother, then you know that what I really love working on is making a home. It is not the only thing I love to do, but it's up there. It somehow seems simultaneously frivolous and deeply personal, which keeps me from bringing it up to a lot of people or writing about it. But more than that, writing about homes would mean showing my home, which would mean a combination of cleaning and being home during daylight hours that seems to be a bit of a blue moon around here. But today I made it happen, mostly by letting go a bit. The beautiful antique parquet floors are still covered in gloopy, high gloss poly that I have no ability to change, there's random, unframed art lying around, an old birthday crown, loose cords and a dead leaf on the floor. This is my home.
About seven months ago I moved into this old apartment in an old brownstone in Bed-Stuy. I love it. So many things about it are frustrating: the temperamental radiators, the somewhat half-assed repairs done over the years, the 65 layers of paint on everything, and an equal number of paint drips on everything else. The weird (but original!) faux finished mantle, the entire bathroom, the bedroom that is just three inches too narrow for an ideal layout. My bedroom door is 5'9," bonking many a visitor in the face... but I love it. It's old. It has never been properly renovated. This means no one decided all the old good stuff should go. And it's the perfect size: just under 300 square feet (using some pretty generous measuring). Ten foot ceilings make it feel a lot bigger. There's room for everything I need, not enough room to hold onto lots of things I don't, but one weekend guest's bags aren't going to make us all claustrophobic. Plus, it's fun to go into other peoples' houses and figure out which room my whole apartment could fit into. Usually it's half the kitchen.
I'll be posting/talking a lot more about my home, hopefully with properly styled photos, details, and maybe even some projects. (I'm looking at you, kitchen shelves!) This is the proverbial band-aid-ripping-off, getting over the weirdness of posting photos of something imperfect yet loved.