Being possessed of an incompletely decorated house, B and I engage in a magical treasure hunt with every trip away as we search for the newest acquisition to adorn our walls, tables, and shelves.
Home decor excites one of us perhaps more than the other. As B pointed out to me recently, "There aren't many men out there who get excited about framing." Perhaps that is true. I don't mind leading the charge (stampede, bulldozer, whichever you prefer) toward decorative nirvana.
Did you know that thesuarus.com presents "nonfunctional" as an alternate for "decorative"? The suggestion is a bit hurtful. True, the pursuit of things is a questionable hobby, one might even call it superficial, though as it turns out, the definition to which I refer appears fifth in the list of definitions for "superficial" on dictionary.com, so perhaps I need a different word.
Some synonym options: Cosmetic, exterior, trivial. None seems all that bad, does it. Home decor might present a cosmetic exterior, but I refuse to believe that surrounding yourself with beautiful things that remind you of great memories is a trivial activity.
The framed print in our dining area brings me back to Mougin, a small town in the south of France popular with artists. We visited early in the morning on our honeymoon on a Monday--if you've been to France and are a shopper, you are all to aware that most stores are closed on Mondays. We wandered the narrow, cobblestoned streets, awake with only the cats and restaurant owners who were putting out empty wine bottles that had been enjoyed that weekend, peering into the windows of stores that wouldn't open for 24 hours and enjoying the golden and gorgeous early-morning Cote d'Azur sun.
As we were leaving the town, we happened upon an open gallery/studio. The artist, a dark, long-haired, and 40-something scruffy man who could only have been a French artist opened his doors and headed to an outdoor table to enjoy his espresso, cigarette, and newspaper with his young-enough-to be-his-daughter leggy girlfriend. B and I tiptoed in and admired his art, lovely and colorful and perfect for us and our house, or it would have been, if the price had been within our budget. We consoled ourselves with a print of his work and managed to travel many thousands of miles home without wrinkling it too much in our suitcase. Upon arriving home, we brought it to a local store for framing.
Those who have had anything framed--but especially a large print--understand the sticker shock that comes with such an activity. The framing always costs more than you think it should, and you reach a critical crossroads at the framing counter, wondering whether you really want the picture framed that badly, or whether you ought to just wait and see if you can find a frame in a store that will look fine enough, even though it won't be the right fit, even though the mats won't match.
When I reach those crossroads, I close my eyes, dig deep (in my purse, for my debit card), and remind myself that money is only money, and while it can't buy happiness, it can help create a heavenly home. And, two weeks later, when I pick up my frame, take it home, and hang it on the wall that was made for it, I never feel regret for a single penny.
Yesterday we dropped off a couple of prints, acquired in Greece a year ago, to be framed. They'll be ready in a couple weeks and will join the rest of our treasures. I've already chosen their location--the bottom of our stairs, a location that previously held three other framed prints, also from our honeymoon, picked up from a street market on our last day in Paris (also a Monday, a week after the first acquisition--hey, I can find shopping even when all the stores are closed).
Yes, I do believe that pictures are in order. Coming soon.
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