I’m going slow in making my bedroom and basement space at Mom’s into “my own”.
For one thing, I don’t have room for all my jazz posters and original paintings by friends, or my nature photos by the likes of Nat’l Geographic’s Jim Brandenburg, the pride of Ely, MN.
Plus it takes a bit of negotiating with Mom, who has a slightly different aesthetic than me, …and it is ultimately her house still. But we’ll find a good middle point, I think, because I inherited much of my aesthetic impulse from her in the first place. Whether it’s an appreciation for saturated colors, or certain hardwoods, or “old” stuff (furniture, collectibles, etc.), or detailed craftsmanship, we tend to think, design, decorate and/or create in parallel ways.
My soon to be ex-wife, in contrast, was big on pastels, French Impressionism, and a version of American crafts that I sometimes find too cutesy or inauthentically touristy. Not that we disagreed, so much as my flambuoyance was always tempered by Sue’s more reserved sense of style.
Now, we’ll just have to see what I make, what I do, and what I put on my walls or my body, …without the presence of another voice in my ears. Call that Lesson #22 in the How To Be a Single Man Again manual.