Wednesday, May 24, 2006
I am an artist, a window-shopper, and a daydreamer.
I hoard home decorating magazines.
In stores I touch the beautiful things, lingeringly.
I fantasize about my dreamhouse.
I love to plan parties, to pore over cookbooks, light many candles, place a freshly iced cake on a new cake stand, slice peaches into a pitcher of frosty white wine.
I’m not rich, and I’m also not handy. My house is a fixer-upper, and I don’t love the fixing. I aspire to never hang dry wall again, and I spend much more time drawing than spackling.
I don’t like garage sales. I can’t sew and I pretend my garden is under an enchantment - the kind where an evil faerie put everyone to sleep and tools rust while the jasmine and ivy thrive.
My imperfect canary-yellow cottage won’t appear in any magazines but I’m surrounded by color and things I love. Fresh flowers, marionettes, bowls of tangerines, the occasional great piece of furniture, and all the art I’ve made while not fixing-upping.
I love to nest.
I love to decorate a table and am subject to sudden violent cravings for a new tablecloth.
If you’re ever in doubt of a gift for me, go for a French tablecloth, a vintage cake stand, or a book in which some decadent romance unfolds in beautiful prose.
I decorate with winter squash, bouquets of herbs in little vases, and dishes of cranberries or kumquats. I get peevish when people eat the kumquats and have learned that a bowl of key limes is less likely to become a husband’s snack.
I have a little ceramic pedestal just the right size for a pomegranate.
Dahlias are so perfect they make me dizzy.
Cooking for friends is fun, though I’m no gourmet chef and am afraid of many recipes.
I like pancakes for dinner. I think a lot of people would love to be invited to a pancake dinner party.
There are ways to make things seem more special than they really are, like serving ice cream in crystal dishes or draping sari fabric over a hand-me-down couch.
I have a hereditary addiction to Italian pottery. It’s not my fault, and there is no treatment.
If I was a ghost, I would live in an Anthropologie store and wear a different dress every night. I would invite my ghost friends over and serve them air in lovely teacups and I would sleep like a cat, curled on a stack of lambs wool sweaters.
I think people should make things. It’s easy to buy a giant canvas at the art store and paint a great big golden pear on it, or an orchid spike, or a tea cup.
I buy art from street fairs to put bread in artists’ bellies.
Color is spice and music and love - you can live without it, but why? When I see a house being painted brown or grey, my heart hurts.
Painting old furniture cherry red turns it into new furniture.
I would love to mosaic an entire city block.
Posted by Laini Taylor at 9:44 AM