I’m a bit of a sucker for an interiors magazine. Toss me a Real Living and plop me in a room facing north and I can be happy for a disturbingly long time. It may be because we have been renovating our house for almost a decade.
I say “renovating” like it’s a “doing word”, which is a bit generous since in recent years our home has mostly been a glorified storage facility for my husband’s tools. The man has turned me into a frustrated interior designer.
Art is an integral part of interior design, drawing the eye into a space and extending personality into a room. There's nothing more boring than a plain white wall. I realised recently that although I fastidiously record my work before I send it off to a gallery or a client, I rarely photograph it within an interior setting. It seems like a missed opportunity since most of our art will end up in someone's house.
One of my fantasies is to have my work slapped all over the walls of an architectural home, maybe styled with a bit of a fiddle leaf fig or a sheepskin throw, and professionally photographed in a frenzy of deeply glamorous vignettes. Unfortunately for me, all the professionals are currently busy working at the designer homes my husband is off building.
It’s time to get my glossy on.
