Art makes a big difference in a house. Stanwick Park comes up lacking.
I want it. I want a lot of it. But it somehow feels more important to fix the broken hose bib and install blinds in the bedroom – even to update the plaid curtains in the photo above to a nice, neutral linen.
More than that, I kind of fear buying art. It’s not just so easy as picking up something you like. You have to have a place to hang it. And it shouldn’t clash with the room. And it should be in proportion with the room – or there should be a nice collection that gives the impression of proper scale. And then the art in the collection should look curated. It’s tricky to mix styles and colors and framing and sizes and come out with an attractive end result.
Never mind the fears I have that I might get something ugly without realizing it. And then everyone will judge me for the art I’ve got up, and I probably would never know it. Or I might like it for a couple of years then switch it out for something else, slowly growing an art graveyard in the back of the basement.
I’ve got art issues.
Until they’re resolved, I’m borrowing from the art graveyard in my parents’ basement.