Everyone seems to want an “eclectic” interior. One that plumbs the deep wells of an interesting life. But is it even possible?
What happens when everyone has access to the same combination of old warped and beat up salad bowls and decrepit frames with moldering cherubs lurking around? Pretty much what you see in the 50 different mail order catalogs used as props.
For the truly eclectic, one should probably go to those repositories of memory and time, the homes of the elderly. They have stuff that was kept because it worked, or was useful, or came from their childhood homes. It really doesn’t look at all as if it belongs together, but there it is.
Loved and cherished. Beat up and comfortable. Loaded down with memories and now none to share it with.
Best to take heed before there is no longer a cane hanging from the chair back along with the hat from the days when gardening was part of the routine.