In my previous home, my husband complained that we had a lack of doors. The only room that had a door to separate it from the rest of the apartment was the bathroom, which then became the room in which we could make late night phone calls to the West Coast or do work while the other slept. It had been my apartment since I was single, and the entire thing felt like an extension of myself. The books, the mismatched thrift store furniture, the rug that had been a birthday present from my mom, the hutch I got in a bartered transaction, the artwork, and a Jennifer Convertibles loveseat, my first full priced furniture I had purchased, were all mine. When my husband moved in, he oozed in one duffel bag at a time on the Bolt Bus from Boston, and his minimal possessions barely made a dent in my crowded studio.
When we upgraded to an apartment with doors (so many glorious doors!), I was eight months pregnant and had limited energy for home improvement. Anyway, the fresh eggshell paint seemed so perfect and fragile. The apartment was too pristine for my messy influence, and I felt afraid to damage it with so much as a mezuzah. Our apartment is still a work in progress, still “new,” though now far from pristine.
While I was home with my daughter, I started to take a few risks to crack the shell of our apartment. In addition to our ketubah, I put up a series of nudes I had painted years ago. They were unframed, and seemed unbounded. While my daughter slept and my husband was at work, I painted a frame directly onto the wall. The next project was painting a flower garden close to the floor, incorporating mirror decals for my daughter to look into. Both of these projects were met with delight and requests for more, even to add one more, taller flower-mirror to our garden for our growing baby. But, as I have increased my time outside the house, those projects, like our living space itself, remain works in progress.
When we upgraded to an apartment with doors (so many glorious doors!), I was eight months pregnant and had limited energy for home improvement. Anyway, the fresh eggshell paint seemed so perfect and fragile. The apartment was too pristine for my messy influence, and I felt afraid to damage it with so much as a mezuzah. Our apartment is still a work in progress, still “new,” though now far from pristine.
While I was home with my daughter, I started to take a few risks to crack the shell of our apartment. In addition to our ketubah, I put up a series of nudes I had painted years ago. They were unframed, and seemed unbounded. While my daughter slept and my husband was at work, I painted a frame directly onto the wall. The next project was painting a flower garden close to the floor, incorporating mirror decals for my daughter to look into. Both of these projects were met with delight and requests for more, even to add one more, taller flower-mirror to our garden for our growing baby. But, as I have increased my time outside the house, those projects, like our living space itself, remain works in progress.