My space is something that's really important to me. I'm not talking like wide open spaces that can be measured in miles or liters. I'm talking about aesthetic space--the physical changes you make to a place around you to put your mark on and make home. Home is a big deal to me. Before I had even put my things in boxes to move to my new place, I had already painted the walls. Not only had I picked a warm yellow that looked like the inner petals of a dandelion, but I got a bright sky blue for the kitchen area. Already I've stretched the space out, and found even more work to do on myself, given the incredibly easy canvas (only a studio).
I think that I hold such importance in having my own space because from ages 8-14, every other week I spent at my grandmother's house, where my mom and I lived after she and my dad split. We shared a room and a bed while we stayed with my gram. So when I got my own space I went all out—and thankfully my taste in home furnishings hasn't changed since I was 15. I've always been a visual learner and connected with paintings and illustrations. Every piece of the space is me. When you look at it all together it's like a snapshot of who I am and I always want people to see it because it explains me so well.
Whenever people come over they instantly use the word “homey”, and that's what I go for. I take everything I love and plaster it about. I love creating an aesthetic space, and have successfully created a cohesive flow. It is because nothing matches that everything matches. With such a variety of colors and pattern, it is easy to find ones that match up and communicate with the other, only inches away from that piece of art, and then there's another.
Most of my belongings are older than I am and have been in my collection for years. Some since my single digits. What can I say? I came from a family of thrift store goers, yard sale finders and charity rummage sale throwers. On my walls are tapestries of assorted colored paintings and sketches from secondhand stores that many of my associates in the art world wouldn't appreciate. We live in such a pretentious time now. Art is when someone makes something--it's when a craftsmen takes time and skill to make these things. Even if it doesn’t have some far fetched political message behind it doesn't mean that it isn't worth time; it's especially worth the money (often ranging from $.25 to $25).
It's important to be inspired by the things around you, and I take to heart what John Berger says about taking pieces and placing them in a way to create a certain feeling. We create our own way of seeing, and in my place it smacks you in the face. Everything is context and it's all in how you connect it—and I believe almost anything can be connected with a little bit of creativity.
A couple pieces in further detail: Next to my bed adorned with bright yellow and black flowered quilt is an antique lamp filled with gold glitter. Next to it a somewhat abstract print of a woman with flowers in/as her hair. My mother always collected photos/art of women and I've taken after. Above it a small painting of the country side—yellow and black wildflowers take up the entire foreground. It's a little remembrance of home and the beauty that you forget about in the city. Then a painting on canvas that I a good friend traded me in exchange for a diamond pattern tie dye tapestry I had made. Art for art, and trading is something I've always been a hug fan of. With so many people having so many various skills—it only makes sense to network and exchange. Fuck money—we can even get on without it. But that's just a little bit radical. A huge embroidered patch of sunflowers is to the left of the art and lamp. I acquired it at a flea market back in Pittsburgh, five bucks. Lastly, one of my all time favorite belongings: a functioning traffic light. My step mom bought a crappy junked up traffic light top from a dj she met. She then gave it to my Pap-paw (grandfather) and he refurbished the whole damn thing, even going the extra mile to build a matching base. However, the base is made of steel (Go Stillers! LOL) and therefore makes it insanely heavy. I always seem to move to the top floor too—making the move quit e a silly task. When asked why he had built it out of steel he replied, “Well gee I hadn't thought you'd still have the damn thing, and bring it all the way to Chicago”. He made it for me when I was like 14. Keep in mind this lengthy description doesn't even cover half of one wall. You feel me?
This is a peculiar piece in the way it goes from a celebration of home decorating to a manifesto. Early on you say of some of your art collection, "Even if it doesn’t have some far fetched political message behind it doesn't mean that it isn't worth time," but it seems to me by the end you've given it all a pretty strong political spin ("Fuck money!").
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