…I can perhaps forget for whole minutes at a time that I am brown-skinned but I can never really have total empathy for, say, a white man cause I can never fully don that mantle of that certain type of privilege.
Reading back over what I wrote yesterday, I’m a little surprised that I wrote it out loud. I mean it’s the kind of post that could invite a slew of naysayers and enduring naysayers takes a kind of fortitude that I keep forgetting I’ve finally developed.
I was thinking today about the name of my blog—The Home Beete. When I first started it in May 2009, I thought it would be a good place to deposit my mania for interior design. But even as I posted pics of couches I adored or wallpaper I wanted to hang in my mythical house, I found myself also wanting a space where I could just write about whatever was in my head. Some place that was more than my journal. I read a wonderful quote from the visual artist Ann Truitt on Brain Pickings today: “…artists have no choice but to express their lives.” So it’s probably inevitable that this blog would become my sounding board, my workshop, the place where I experiment and tinker. Which sounds a lot like home, actually.
Home is the place where I don’t shower on weekends or days off (I know, gross). Home is where I pick my nose obsessively (I know, gross). Home is where my only exercise sometimes comprises moving from one end of the couch to the other. (Look, if you had my couch, you’d stick as close to it as possible, too.) In other words, home is where I can be utterly and completely myself in all my groovy, gross, lazy, manic, high-brow, low-brow selfness. Which sounds a lot like this blog, actually.
I think in addition to the Home Beete evolving into a place where I feel at home, it’s also the place where I find myself becoming more at home with who I am. With the sound of my voice. With what that voice likes to talk about, to scream about, to sing about. With how often that voice comes back to the same subjects. With how the courage of that voice waxes and wanes across a spectrum from sorta courageous to “Y’all motherfu**ers need to listen up now!”
Virginia Woolf famously wrote that every woman, in order to be an artist, needs a room of her own. I think Mrs. Woolf will forgive me if I rewrite that to every woman artist needs a home of her own. And in that home, as she paces its many rooms, filling them with this and that, rearranging the furniture willy nilly, throwing the occasional dance party, losing the vacuum and forgetting to do laundry on a regular basis, investigating what she’s lost under piles of dust and junk left behind by others, she will somehow stumble into the hiding place of that one need even greater than a home of her own—a voice of her own.
To be continued…
Golf cupcake tier by clever cupcakes from Flickr
First, I apologize to anyone who thought I was actually making a golf reference and is now dismayed to find out that it’s just little old me working some puns to entice you into my little old shelter blog. (And come on people–me talking about golf? Have you met me?)
Instead good folks, today’s blog will be a hurlyburly hodgepodge of the groovy tips and treasures that take my fancy as I take my daily passeggiata through cyberspace. Enjoy!
First up, by way of Design*Sponge, check out this gorgeous stationery from oh joy. Yes, yes, I know e-mail is quicker, but really, I can’t be the only one that appreciates having something show up in my mailbox besides my American Express Bill, can I? And with folders this pretty, I might actually file my receipts rather than just making a big pile of them in my closet to file “some day.”
Again from Design*Sponge, a round-up of reasonably priced hardware. Updating drawer pulls or hanging a few decorative hooks to corral coats and such is the easy-peasiest of upscales. It’s especially handy if you’re a renter like me who wants the design pick-me-up without the permanence. Upgrading the hardware is also a perfect way to put the “It” as in “I want it, need it, gotta have it” into your IKEA finds. (Hint: Anthropologie often has swoon-worthy hardware at thrifty prices on its sale page!)
Today’s house tour from Apartment Therapy makes we wonder why the heck I left Chicago, especially the gorgeous view of downtown from the ubiquitous Chicagoland porch. What I really love about this post are these priceless words to live by from Sarah & Steve. “We’re finally at the point where we love pretty much everything we have. . . Since we started buying less and spending more time waiting for the right piece, our home has improved.” I also heart the list of sources at the end of the article, which prove that IKEA, craigslist, and haute hand-me-downs can be a designing diva’s best friends. By the by, my fellow leasees, note that this cool pad is a rental, which means that “But my landlord won’t let me . . . ” is no excuse for not dishing design in your (temporary) digs.
Speaking of IKEA, I kinda fell a little in love with this headboard this past Saturday. (There were a couple of others, but the images don’t seem to be available online.) Now if I can only figure out how to sell my current bed—which was a present from my mom and sis—without having said mom and sis disown me, or worse, stop giving me their clothing/accessories/chick lit castoffs.
Lena Corwin is one of my favorite bloggers. I really love the visual lushness of her blogs and the spareness of text. (Which is kinda weird since I’m a writer, right?) And yes, I have blatantly copied Lena’s style for many of my own posts. BTW, she and fellow artist Maria do lots of lovely partnerships–like their new Plants journal–which they sell on their even lovelier Web site Lines & Shapes. I’m thinking the Lena-designed travel poster will be winging its way to some folks for Christmas this year . . .
I have a glue gun. I have tons of fabric. Now I can have a groovy magnetic knife rack thanks to this DIY to-do from The Farm Chicks. So who’s giving me a ride to IKEA? I’ll treat for the cinnamon buns!
Full disclosure: I did not just “happen” to run across this next—and final—link in my “daily passeggiata through cyberspace.” I sought it out. For you. So you wouldn’t worry that my obsession with/stalking of 20×200.com had abated. So here’s “Hot Dog and I” by Fernanda Cohen, which I’d really like to get because it reminds me of Ignatius J. Reilly and a particularly amusing section of John Kennedy Toole’s A Confederacy of Dunces, but I’m not sure if good Christian girls should have pictures of naked men eating hot dogs on their walls . . .Sigh . . . .