“How do you live with all those collections?” Every time I’m interviewed, I can’t escape that question. Often it’s followed by, “How do you dust it all?” (I have to tame my tip-of-my-tongue snarky response: Just like you dust your stuff. One section at a time.)
I get it. I have what feels like a museum’s worth of collections. If you’re not a collector, it’s easy to imagine being swallowed up by gallery walls, strangled by doodads, suffocated by dusty stuff.
“For collectors, though, collections are life-giving. Grounding and purposeful. Stories of our past and present. Reflections of our souls. To live without our collections would be to abandon a part of ourselves.”
For collectors, though, collections are life-giving. Grounding and purposeful. Stories of our past and present. Reflections of our souls. To live without our collections would be to abandon a part of ourselves.
But the question ”How do you live with all those collections?” is a good one.
We’ve all been in homes where the collections are the home. They suck up the oxygen of a space. Every surface is topped with stuff. Every cabinet is filled with stuff. And every inch of every wall is covered with stuff.
Some people are comfortable (and comforted!) living with all that stuff. Everyone’s threshold for what a right amount of stuff is is as varied as the stuff in a person’s home. And really a home is for nobody but you and your family. If it works, then it works.
I’ve had to manage my collections. I live in a 900-or-so square-foot home with two other people. Space is limited. We need the extra oxygen that collections can consume. My husband needs space on the sofa side table to put his Bubly and (ugly) tablet. We need a spot to put food on the buffet when we serve dinner. We need space to walk and to sit.
I need white space in my home to create white space for my being: space to escape the crazies of the day and breathe. I’ve found, visual clutter creeps in and steals my peace.
I’ve also discovered that “a collection on every surface” approach in our small home doesn’t serve the overall design of our home. Too much is too much. My home needs a spot for my eye to rest. Editing my collections provides visual relief—and actually highlights the pieces I have on display, so I enjoy them even more.
I want every piece on display to serve the purpose and feel of the room. Once I began being more thoughtful in how I displayed my collections, I actually enjoyed my home more.
I’ll never answer to the sobriquet “Miss Minimalist.” My inner collector clamors for more collections. Just one more mirror, pleeeeeease! And nobody ever would walk in my home and think, “What a beautifully executed minimalist home.” I’m a maximalist. But as a maximalist I’ve learned how to control my collections so they don’t control me and my home.
“If our homes are our stories, and our collections are our exhibits, it is our delightful role as collectors to curate an experience that supports the way we live.”
So my answer to “How do you live with all those collections?” is this:
Don’t listen to me. If you like having all your collections out all of the time and on every surface, to thine own collector’s self be true. Your home is for you: not me, not IG, not an Anti-Tchochki-ist. Be proud of your collections and enjoy them.
Rotate your collections. My attic and basement are packed with bins of collections that I put away for a period. When I fancy a new look, I head to the bins. Like it’s Christmas morning, I claw through the bubble wrap to delight in a collection I had forgotten and promptly “play” with it like a new toy.
Don’t be afraid to put away your collections for a period; it can actually heighten your appreciation of it when you re-discover it. Absence of of a collection makes your collector’s heart grow fonder.
And your home gets a fresh look without buying a new piece of furniture or fresh paint.
Display with storytelling in mind. This is a little more abstract principle. But it has helped me think through how I want my collections to relate to the room in which they are displayed. Collections on display should enhance the room and speak to the other items—including the other collections—that are in the room.
Sometimes this means being aware of texture and colors. The collecting adage “group similar items together” is only part of the solution. I have a hefty collection of white McCoy pottery on display in my living room. I also have a similarly hefty collection of turquoise McCoy pottery. But I don’t display it in the same room as the white McCoy, even though it’s McCoy. It’s displayed in the kitchen.
If I displayed both in the same room on or in different cabinets, it would feel like a McCoy convention. Not to mention, the white works better with the living room’s color story; and the green works better with the kitchen’s color story.
When you think of collections as part of the room’s story, then you think about how the color and the shapes within a collection relate to the room’s color, furniture, art and purpose.
My antique lily paintings are another example. I have many floral paintings, but I only display the lily paintings in the dining room. The coloring of the oils makes sense with the coloring of the room—and they perfectly fit the awkward corner.
So as you think about what collections to display, think about the space, the color, and the surroundings of a room. Often, you’ll know which will shine.
Deconstruct your collections. This is antithetical to the timeless advice of “group all like items together.” And it takes a bit more artistry to execute.
My vintage shell art collection, my beaded flower collection, my alabaster collection, my seascape collection—all of these are broken up and spread throughout my home and grouped with other items. A gallery wall in my living room, for instance, is home to a few pieces of my shell art collection, mixed in with a few seascapes, landscapes, and taxidermy butterflies.
I know people who have impressive shell art collections that fill a singular wall. I know others who have impressive gallery walls of only taxidermy butterflies. Even I break this rule by having a bedroom wall covered with seascapes. A grouping of one item is undeniably spectacular and visually arresting.
But a few pieces of shell art on this wall makes sense. The texture creates interest, and the material speaks to the seascapes that share the same space. And the shell art and seascapes on that wall speak to the items atop a cabinet at the opposite end of the room.
Similarly, the seascapes on that wall relate to the seascapes in my bedroom just around the corner.
Think like a museum curator. I know the word “curate” is frought with debate and distate because of its overuse (we curate experiences; we curate a menu; we curate a group of friends). But collecting is curating. The word works.
How we display our collections is akin to what a museum curator does when creating an exhibit. She tells a narrative from display to display, room to room. She decides what is displayed, where it’s displayed, and how it’s displayed so that the story has a flow.
The “how” is critical. Think of museum displays. Glass cases for small objects. Pedestals to elevate an impressive statuary. And lots of white space to draw the eye in to the artifact. A story is told from artifact to artifact. There is a flow from piece to piece.
Similar principles can be applied to our collections. In my home, I’m a fan of vitrines to showcase special items. Pedestals to elevate items. I also think about the visual path of my home, and what people see (what I see) when they move from corner to corner, and space to space.
Maybe we want to be reminded of our history or our passions. Maybe we want to feel something that a certain color of a collection provokes. Maybe we want to remind ourselves of what we hope for, and a collection can be a signpost of our dreams.
If our homes are our stories, and our collections are our exhibits, it is our delightful role as collectors to curate an experience that supports the way we live.
I have boxes and trunks tucked away throughout my house filled with collections that I store for another day.
Collections often tell you where and how they want to be displayed. This antique waterlily oil painting collection perfectly fits this awkward corner in the dining room.
Deconstruct your collections. While I have a shelf full of shell art (see immediately below) and a wall of seascapes (see last photo), I pull apart my collections to create a story from room to room. So, it’s not just one collection, but pieces of a collection artfully displayed throughout the home to create a sense of cohesiveness.
In my office we built shelves to house many of my collections. the shelves are always in transition as I pull pieces to create vignettes and tell stories throughout the home. On these shelves are displayed a portion of my beaded whimsy collection, shell art collection, trench art collection and beaded flower collection. You can mix collections for an artful look.
This gallery wall is a mash-up of collections, from shell art to seascapes, to landscapes to framed taxidermy butterflies. All show up in other parts of my home.
A portion of my seascape wall in my bedroom. My first and last view of my day is of the sea—my favorite place to be. Collections are meant to be personal and tell your story.