The art in our house is random – a very random hodge podge collection of memories, fine art, monotypes, children’s art, photography, ceramics, Great Aunty Joy’s paintings, wedding presents and even the odd piece salvaged from Grandma’s garage. Christianity meets Buddhism meets Danish royalty meets contemporary sculpture meets road kill.
In theory, it shouldn’t work, but it’s a story about our little family. We all get a say in what we like and what we want. Will’s duck shooting painting will never be allowed out of his room, but he loves it, he chose it and so it deserve a place in the home that he is part of!
It’s also a story about our travels and the places we’ve been. Give me a painting any day from a street artist in Colombo over a badly made souvenir tee-shirt of dubious ethical origins that I’ll never wear.
We also have gifts on our walls from family and friends, all of them unique and special. And heaven forbid, we even have some art just because we like it!
I have friends with beautifully collated art collections that look effortlessly stylish and every now and then I feel a tiny stab of envy. But how could I possibly set aside the things that we’ve gathered over time and replace them with an adhesive collection worthy of its own exhibition? The short answer is I wouldn’t and I won’t. It would be like boxing up the good times and sealing a lid on them.
And so, the art in our home will continue to be eclectic and it will continue to tell the random story of us as a family. Who knows where or what it will grow to become or look like and whether anyone else will like it. Who cares? Whatever the case, it’ll be our story and it will add layers of personality, history and individuality to the place we choose to call home.