I am always undecided whether I want to be a minimalist or a maximil-ist. I don’t think that is the right word in this context, but I guess you get the picture.
When I am having a minimalist moment at home I hide anything and everything away.
I remove all traces of personal memorabilia, photos, artefacts and knick-knacks from the furniture in my quest to achieve purity of design.
I tell myself that an uncluttered space will lead to an uncluttered mind and that this must be a good thing;
I will feel more peaceful within if I clear away the excess. This does not mean that I throw anything away – a clue that I am not a true minimalist – it just means that I can fool myself temporarily.
This is of course an unsustainable existence for someone like me who spends their life roaming around antique fairs and flea markets in the quest for the latest collectible; another clue that I am no minimalist.
Minimalism chez moi lasts for between 12 and 24 hours, sometimes not even that long, before the hidden treasure takes it’s rightful place.
At best it is a half hearted attempt to become one with the more contemporary interior and free myself from the constraints of old world decorating.
Although the packing away and the bringing out of objects will long continue on a regular basis, the truth is.
I really do prefer my clutter. xv
