Because even freelancers get a case of the
Mondays Tuesdays, here are a couple sweet home tours from Apartment Therapy that will perk you up, if you’re into this sort of thing:
I’m a huge fan of color. Not every room need be a super saturated, punchy color to make me happy, but I can never let a beige or white room be. What I love about the home tours above is that the designs are modern and sophisticated but also totally accessible and inviting (read: I don’t have to spend a buttload of money to make this happen). Also, these homes don’t feel too precious, and I have a newfound appreciation for any space that allows for infants and pets who regularly have fluids escaping from every orifice. (We’re one of those lucky families that has a dog with anal gland issues. JEALOUS? And you’re welcome for the awesome graphic in that last link.)
After countless recent viewings of Henry’s favorite TV show, I’ve realized that my own home is sort of veering toward a modern-meets-Pee’s-Wee’s Playhouse aesthetic. And I’m kind of okay with that (though Pee-Wee has far more cool, kitschy artifacts. Apparently, between playing “Connect the Dots” and doing the puppet dance, Pee-Wee is an avid eBayer.). I’m often nagged with an urge to inject some maturity into my Peter-Pan style, but I think I’ll always be most drawn to colorful, vibrant spaces that are as stimulating as they are practical. (For more great examples of this, see here, here, and here.)
Bonus: I painted our guest bedroom! Consider that crossed off the ‘ol resolution, shmesolution list. And I made an important discovery during this project: scientists studying black holes should attempt to paint this room. Though the space is small, it took me approximately for-ev-er to paint this bitch. Seriously, I think I got through four discs in the LOTR trilogy while working on this room (extended versions, no less).
Without further ado, here are the most anti-climactic before and after photos ever! (All images courtesy of shite cell phone camera):
One guiding principle of home decorating that I can get behind is making do with what you’ve got (again, far better realized here and here). But I’ve collected some weird crap over the years that’s as varied as my bizarre decor phases. In my first apartment, my college roommate and I actually put effort into creating a nautical theme. (Avast! What we need in this nook is another shadow-box display of slipknots!) Another roommate, who worked at Abercrombie & Fitch, brought home a giant photo of a muscled surfer dude mounted to poster board that we hung on the wall behind our dining room table for a while (seriously). Though I don’t still have that to contend with (thank god, and even if I had wanted it, my roommate would have fought me for it. And she could totally kick my ass.), I’ve got some other odds and ends that serve a functional purpose, but don’t really fit with anything else I have. I’ve already documented my Wicker Woman tendencies, but here’s another good example:
That’s an old umbrella stand that I think my mom got from an antique store. We don’t need it for umbrellas, but it’s made for a convenient thingy with which to corral rolls of wrapping paper. But I can never get the dingy white clean, and it doesn’t go with anything else. Perhaps spray paint will solve this problem? Maybe a yellow?
Another discovery I made while painting this room is that closet painting is the shit. It’s quick and easy (no black holes there) and it made the room feel more finished. As a bonus, the confined space and lack of airflow will totally get you high!
Of course, you can’t really tell from that photo, but the closet looks nice painted. Also, don’t be jealous of my fancy lady gown, which my lovely mother-in-law got me as a wedding gift.
I’ve kind of got closet-painting fever now. Since we have bright colors going in several spots that house closets (orange in one hall, green downstairs), I feel like it would be a fun surprise to open a closet and find color. It’d be like opening a door and hearing, “Surprise! I’m a COLOR!” while balloons and confetti fall from the ceiling.
I realize that last statement suggests that I need to get out of the house more. Or the fumes from closet painting have done permanent damage.
Anywho, here’s a final shot that shows how the gray plays off our orange hall:
And no, that sad blob in the corner isn’t another ill-acquired item that could use a coat of spray paint. It’s my sad blob of a dog, Nona! She approves of the paint. Or it depresses her deeply, I’m not really sure. Actually, she’s probably just depositing some of her anal juices on the carpet. Which is her way of saying, “SUCCESS!“