I recently moved. It was a big one, moving not just my belongings but also disassembling my mother’s house and dividing everything up amongst me and my siblings—so lots of work and emotionally draining, for it seems as if we were closing the book on my parents' lives.
I have put most of my things in storage with the exception of my paintings, which are now arrayed around the apartment (on the floor leaning against the walls) that I am temporarily calling home. Much as I love my things, I am also loving the idea of being divested of them and am seriously toying (is that an oxymoron?) with opening a pop-up store and selling them all off. Things, especially nice ones are a huge responsibility and the thought of carting them all around after me is exhausting right now. Maybe I’ll feel differently after some time has passed...
I have always lived in rather funky places and decorated accordingly. I sometimes wonder if given my druthers I might prefer a more minimalist approach, but then I think of who I am how I dress, think, interact with the world and see that my multi-layered pastiche of objects and styles is very much a reflection of that.
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