Monday, January 18, 2010
My Home Is...
It's amazing how much a person's home or, rather, the place they live can tell about who they are. Does the place feel lived in or somehow museum-like untouchable? Does it have the generic sterility of a hotel room/model home/Ikea catalog or a flair all its own? Was it put together with care or with things one has haphazardly collected over the years (hopefully not from one's parent's basement....)?
I took these photographs of my grandmother's house in Nebraska when I went to visit her in September. To me, they say so much about her as a person: A woman who loves dusty rose and egg shell white even though it was frowned upon as being "frivolous" by others in her starkly protestant German-Russian community. A woman who takes pride in keeping house and does so on her own although she is several years past eighty. A woman who was a constant crafter before the term "crafter" even existed. A woman who was raised to be god-fearing but still has pillows on her couch which state "Will Work For Fun."
Tonight I changed a lot of little things in our own apartment, changing a painting from one wall to another, candle holders from a table to a shelf, vases from the living room into the kitchen. Small changes and yet the feeling is so different, like a breath of fresh air in these long, dark winter months.