Minimalism Regulates Me
I don’t call myself a minimalist; I’d say it’s part of my perspective. I guess calling myself a minimalist makes it feel like you can only do that if every part of what you do is tied to that idea. That’s not real in my life. It closes more doors than it opens in bad ways, and it doesn’t create room for other passions like art, music, travel, and “the culture.” So instead, I say it’s part of my perspective.
It’s the majority of the way I approached my house. Museum walls, no trim, black and white as the base color palette, and things with no start and stop—everything to the edge of the next. I didn’t do this to be minimalist; I did it to create a canvas, one where the paintings, the plants, the textiles, and the people would become the experience to call home.
What’s interesting is that I’m also drawn to images of groupings, colors and hues that include worn-in brown leather, deep blues, gold accents, messy scenes that altogether feel comfortable. Messy, abundant, but curated—anti-minimalist. Controlled chaos. There’s peace in that at times.
Other times, most of the time, I need less. Less is clarity. Less is peaceful. Less creates opportunity for new thoughts, for reflection, for enjoying the moment. I’m not a minimalist; I’d say it’s part of my perspective.