Oh, but wouldn’t it be nice. The drawers, the natural light pouring in from large windows, house plants, the scattered cushions, the just-right level of mismatched-but-perfectly-quirky patterns and colours… No clutter, except for the photogenic kind. Adore it all as I do, I realise I will never have an IKEA catalogue home, and I’ve just become OK with it. I even recently used my collection of IKEA catalogues as stove fuel. I had around fifteen years of those on my bookshelf like they were precious yearbooks of design. Not anymore.
A friend “liked” a post on Facebook by a mum who nearly but didn’t send an apology to a friend for the state of her house before that friend was due over for a coffee. She realised that having the clutter, chaos, stains, yesterday’s makeup on, and a funky smelling house was part of life itself. She decided to be unapologetic for living. I find myself in the same boat at times, living in a too-small house, where two people with lots of stuff work and live.
Life at Penwarren is tricky. Our kitchen is a terrible design and difficult to keep clean on the best of days. We have no living room because it was sacrificed to become my studio. The office is a small, cluttered space of computers, a couple comfy chairs (in lieu of a sofa) facing gaming TVs, and a bunch of necessary hardware and toolboxes for Pete’s occupation as a tech wizard. The junk of life spills into every available space here like water through a cracked cup. And you know what?
So next time someone comes over, I’m not apologising for the state of the house. It’s not a biohazard, it usually smells nice (we love incense), and I’ll clear a spot for coffee cups. This is a working environment and a living home. Life is not tidy, and I’d get nothing done if it was. Not to say I wouldn’t like a bigger house, but I’m grateful for what I have right now and all the creative thought it takes to work *with* my environment, not against it.
Who needs a sofa anyway.