The Custodian of the Inanimate Object
To me, it seemed completely acceptable as a kid to shift heavy items of furniture across my bedroom floor so that the room would take on a new perspective, and that tomorrow I would wake up with a different view. It was a tiny room so there were very few options, but it didn’t stop me trying all of them over and over again. Arranging and rearranging had become a thing. As the years went by and I acquired more than just one bedroom, the moving around of inanimate objects took on a life of its own.
I would always apologise for caring so much about the aesthetics, and the different collections of mostly old and quirky objects discarded by others that filled me with joy. The ritual of curating vignettes provided a respite from the corporate grind. Where others might have chosen yoga, I chose this. We moved a lot, on average once every year, and collected more sofas than was normal. Yet throughout, it was an opportunity to create spaces that were truly my own that I never tired of. I wasn’t aware at the time, but it was my creative outlet outside a world of admin. It didn't matter if my home was a rental or not, for that time, it would be mine. Of course, there was much less space then, and moving so frequently deterred me from bringing too much clutter into my life, yet the rituals of lighting candles, displaying the vintage, and dressing the bed always remained.
As time went on, and we welcome children and pets into our lives, the moving between homes became less frequent, so I turned my attention to the rooms within. Any spare time was spent sourcing vintage, choosing colours for the walls, and creating new areas to style. This hobby felt very separate from my work, and I hadn’t considered how much this distraction would at times occupy my thoughts and bring a sense of calm to an otherwise quite hectic life, and certainly I had not considered it a career option. It took moving away from London to a town in a more countryfied setting for me to make the jump. to explore this creative outlet as a new life. Shortly after leaving my job in the city I became a shopkeeper selling things I love, alongside running creative workshops. I have never feared change, having lived so many new roles, homes, and locations. Whether the change is related to decorating a home or your own transformation it should never be feared or avoided, but celebrated. I am aware that since moving from corporate to creative I have become more me (at the grand old age of fifty-two), whatever that means. It all feels more comfortable, even if a lot of the time I am out of my comfort zone.
By being more me, my decorating confidence has grown. I embrace forms, colour, texture, and light in a more confident way, which allows me to bring more personality into the home. To see the whole space as one and to create a flow - preferring to paint with a rich palette of autumnal tones - has bought a more harmonious feel. Each space has a distinctive look, displaying foraged and salvaged finds alongside hand-made and considered wares. A simple shelf bought to life through the process of layering pieces collected over time. It doesn’t have to be contrived; the wonky, the worn, and the chipped all tell a story. We can take inspiration from all around us; foraged finds, trinkets, treasures, and mementos from the places we have visited. To have a home less ordinary you have to embrace the extraordinary. I don’t apologise any more about caring this much about my home. It keeps me sane and brings me joy, and for that I am grateful.
Becoming a shopkeeper has given me permission to feed the addiction for seeking. out the old stuff, visiting flea markets with the intention of selling on when the reality is quite different. I find myself forming unhealthy attachments with the pieces I find, wondering about their story and origin. As most are sleeping on a brisk Sunday morning, I am rummaging around in the car boots of random strangers who have accepted their fate to de-clutter.
The reality of stumbling upon the professional house clearers can be a little heart-breaking at times, knowing that they have already swept through the house removing the commercially viable objects to sell via auctions, only to bring along what they regard as junk. Crates filled with hand-written letters, family photographs, and broken ceramics. Surely this challenges even the most hardy of scavengers to question the purpose of continuing to create collections, only to have them one day regarded as junk by another. Yet it is the recycling and re-purposing of these aged pieces that is the gift that keeps on giving in this cycle. A new custodian to care for these objects and to appreciate their history, until the journey starts again. Was it genetic, I wondered, as my then nine-year-old dragged a piece of driftwood twice the size of him back from the beach to the car, mumbling along to himself that he was sure he could use it for something in his bedroom.
Interestingly, I adore the minimalist’s space, the re-strained decorator who can style a room with a handful of carefully chosen items, like a well curated art gallery. I have tried and failed to live like this, as slowly but surely the clutter finds its way in. Live the way you want to live, and be the person you want to be.
Alongside music, laughter, and food, for me it is also the stillness of these objects - new and old, created by makers far and wide, owned and once cherished by another - created by makers far and wide, owned and once cherished by another - that create life within my home. As I turn my key in the door I hear the sound of the whippet & wire fox crashing down the stairs, tumbling over one another to be the first to greet me as I arrive home. Living normally, surrounded by all the things I love, is what nourishes me
I have include a handful of pictures of some objects that have found new homes through Wattle & Daub, some I still think about….
ps. I think about this bear at least once per week….
