It feels so good to have our "wall of art" taking shape. When Molly first moved in, I had two hand me downs from my paternal grandmother on the wall, not even art I particularly liked myself, except for the fact that it was a pencil sketch and a pen and ink, respectively, i.e. somewhat minimalist, if not in subject matter (two naked woman, and a somewhat creepy mother and child) then at least devoid of color or busyness, which I'll admit I like in art.
While Molly and I tend to be in wonderful synchronicity regarding architectural bones, organic forms, building exteriors and sculpture, we tend to disagree violently on "fine art." It's taken a while to figure out, but we realized we tend to be much more in agreement when we move to the arena of folk art and illustration. So, that's the tack we took when re-moving-into our current apartment.
One of the plusses of our ill-fated move to Bed-Stuy, was it made us re-focus our priorities when we moved back. I threw out a bunch of clothes, we traded in our couch for a loveseat and dresser (more storage!) and we got a re-do on the main art mall in the living room. We were surprised how easy it was this time, as compared the past, to find our common ground and create an interesting placement of objects that we both liked! Now, Molly says, it really, truly feels completely like it's OUR apartment, and I'm so happy about that.
Each piece we selected has its own story. The over-sized calendar (#1) we bought right before we moved to Bed-Stuy. The apartment had a large exposed brick wall behind the fireplace and we needed a large-scale piece. We happened to be in Annie's Blue Ribbon General Store, a cool stationery and gift shop in Park Slope, when this calendar hit our eye. We loved how huge it was (20 X 32, not including the oak hanger) and the bold, modern graphics. Between smartphones and other technology, I know its's pretty easy to find out what date it is these days, but I'll never get sick of seeing an old-fashioned calendar, and the monthly ritual of changing one page to the next. (Here's looking at you, Saturday!)
#2 has an interesting story. In Gowanus, there is a Lowe's store that is very dear to Molly's heart. As you know by now, Molly loves doing home projects and learning how to be handy. When Molly was single and living in Carroll Gardens, she'd often wonder through the Lowe's or the IKEA on a weekend day, just for the pleasure of it (I don't even tease her about this! ;) ). By the entrance to this particular Lowe's was a gated lot chock-a-block full with architectural remnants (finely-carved wooden columns from Victorian homes, spindling, moldings, doors), old mannequins, and a fine collection of old claw foot tubs. Getting admitted to this treasure trove was tricky though. Hours were limited and subject to change. They seemed to be also oriented towards the weekend morning hours, when I would definitely still be asleep. Still, we would gaze longingly through the chain-link on our various trips to Lowe's and vow one day to catch this unicorn.
Finally, one day, the stars aligned. We couldn't believe our luck! While feasting on the riches in front of us, we came upon a section of old fire grates. They were beautiful and chippy and rusted and ornate. We bought two, one with its inner, filigreed piece in tact, and the other with a blank space. It was cast iron and extremely heavy, but we felt our old walls could manage it. We envisioned one day putting a tombstone-shaped painting, or mirror, in the center. For a while, my decidedly not tombstone-shaped pen and ink drawing of some ranunculus was taped inside as a place-holder. But when we re-imagined the art wall, Molly (correctly) pointed out that there was something delicious and special (tongue in cheek?) about leaving the space in the middle blank. And so we did.
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