I'm a sucker for vintage photographs and granny-like heirlooms-jewelry, linens, and china-that evoke a sense of history and have a story to tell. So I'm thrilled that a slew of my favorite home-décor stores are stocking new accessories with a flea-market sensibility: old-world pictures and designs silk-screened onto contemporary materials.
Download and decorate your computer screen with this wallpaper design, which was inspired by the limited-edition work of Maryland-based painter Karen Deans. Her beautiful wooden tiles will appear in Home's January/February 2007 issue (onsale December 26). I was attracted to the simple graphic quality and earth-toned palette of her pieces, which allow them to coordinate with a variety of decor styles. To create this pattern, I used a digital program to draw the image and, in an homage to Dean's originals, layered in a hint of wood-grain pattern. — Marlene Sezni, deputy art director
To download, just click on the link for your screen resolution. Once you see the full image, right-click on it and select Set as Background or Set as Wallpaper. Or download the free PDF to your computer. Check back soon for more patterns—all exclusive to homemag.com and inspired by ideas in the magazine.
I'm well aware that when I was a child, my feelings about Barbie were more intense than those of my friends. I thought about her all the time, wondering who her parents were, how she could afford all those great clothes she wore, and whether she was nice or mean. I can't say that I loved her, but I was definitely obsessed with her. If she had been a real person, I probably would have stalked her. But that was a long time ago. Still, old fixations tend to linger and express themselves in curious ways. My Barbie thing came out in a big way when I was decorating my last apartment.
This is the first Barbie Dream House. It was issued in 1963, and predates my introduction to the world of Barbie. Yet I was a kid with a strange streak of nostalgia, so I coerced my mother into calling a friend with a daughter older than myself. Mom successfully talked her friend into selling us her daughter's original Dream House. Made of cardboard, the "House" was really a studio apartment. Its compact floor plan captivated me—a sleeping area, sitting area, entertainment console, vanity, clothes closet, and bookshelf, all packed into one room. It had everything you need except for a kitchen, but that seemed unnecessary to the eight-year-old me.
Beginning in mid-November, home center Lowe's (lowes.com) will begin selling four different versions of the Katrina Cottage (cusatocottages.com/index_content.html), a residence intended as a more permanent housing alternative in disaster-stricken areas than temporary Federal Emergency Management Association (FEMA) trailers, in 30 of its stores in Mississippi and Louisiana. The retailer will also offer floor plans for the houses in their stores nationwide and online.
I’m gonna ask you to think about riveting blends of color for a moment. What just popped up on your visual screen? The brilliant fall leaves that just blanketed your lawn, the Sunday comics, the neon billboards of Times Square? Or was it perhaps a bowl of M&Ms? If it was, I’ll forgive you—you probably have a lot of Halloween candy left over.
What comes to mind for me is Claude Monet’s paintings of water lilies—those Impressionistic masterpieces that were inspired by the interplay of light, shadow, water and plant life in and around the landscapes he and his gardeners crafted on his property just north of Paris, in Giverny, France. Using large brush strokes and multiple layers of paint, Monet painted the enchanting scenery that surrounded his home over and over again during the final 30 years of his life (from about 1893 until the early 1920s).
One of the most interesting things I learned my freshman year in art school (apart from the painful fact that I was not nearly as happening as I thought) is that even if you're well-versed in color theory, your innate color sense is often a better guide for determining what hues go together—or at least a more interesting one—than adhering to rules. Sure, cool and dark colors, such as navy blue, recede, and complementary hues, such as shades of red and green, are natural pairings. But nothing beats gut reaction (What colors make you happy?). By developing your own palettes, your decor will be much more personal and inviting. Inspiration can be found in unlikely places. Today I noticed a beautiful bright-skinned orange balanced atop a roll of duct tape next to a roll of kraft paper on my kitchen table (please, don't ask). Voilà—an instant orange, gray, and tan palette! But how to use those colors decoratively and in what amounts? To figure that out, I matched the objects to Benjamin Moore paint swatches —Fairway Oaks #1075, a rich tan; Gunmetal #1602, a silver-gray; and Fruit Punch #140, a lively orange—and then played around with them to decide how much of each color I wanted to see. I decided to use the soothing tan on the walls, and opted for gray upholstery, and, to cheer things up, patterned pillows and a throw in vivid orange. For a bolder approach, use the brightest color as your main hit—an orange couch would look smashing against dramatic gray walls and a neutral tan rug.
With all due respect to the legion of Times Square vendors down the street from our office, I’ve never been into decorating with mass-produced trinkets from tourist traps. I’ve bought my fair share of postcards, and even a t-shirt or two, but I’m just not convinced that a tapestry pillow emblazoned with the skyline of, well, any city that has a skyline and an airport gift shop, is something to build a decor around.
Certainly, kitsch can be cute. Elvis dish towels, aprons, oven mitts, and refrigerator magnets from Memphis or Las Vegas are whimsical—not in your kitchen, of course, but in that of a relative or close friend. And plenty of style savvy hipsters collect vintage travel memorabilia and display it with great flair.
I wish them happy trails and dusting. But even if your home office is begging for a beautiful new paperweight in the shape of the Golden Gate Bridge, am I—I mean, are you—ever going to make money twenty years from now by selling it on eBay? Besides, how would I—I mean, you—ever have gotten that pointy thing through airport security?