Spring restlessness is upon me again. I want to do big things, but all I can get around to is dreaming about big things that feel like only small things orbiting a really big thing I can’t lay my finger on. Do you know what I mean?
Great blogs, or the ones I consider great, seem to be written by people with art degrees who have a consistent artistic vision. Everything they like, or at least everything that gets on the blog, goes together well. Maybe Bauhaus is their thing. Or shabby chic. Maybe cutesy-poo, maybe colonial, maybe Scandinavian. The point is that a blog with a really great Scandinavian aesthetic sticks to that aesthetic and doesn’t start dabbling in Civil War reproductions.
Is it careful blogging? Is it self-discipline? Is it an artistic gift? Is it being unplugged from constant browsing of other blogs on the internet, thereby avoiding temptation to try something new?
And do I have it in me to have a consistent aesthetic? I did well for a lot of years with English country, then turned toward midcentury when I met my husband, then lapsed into nothing-at-all while Mimi was a baby. Now that it’s springtime and my brain has some fresh air rattling through it I want to get that focus back. Or do I? Isn’t it just window-dressing for real life? Does it really matter? I think it matters to me. I want to like the feel things have about them. I want things in my life to whisper to me.
So I’m in my midcentury house with my English country furniture, and I’ve been dabbling in Scandinavian/storybook/pastoral stuff. I dream about greenhouses, literally. Oriental carpets, shining furniture, curvy glass, ferns, rocks, muted blues and greens and browns, glistening wedding-ring china and rain on hydrangeas. I wonder if I’ll ever pull myself together.