Beware...this one's heady.

In a recent comment, drmelf suggested that by collecting multiples of things I may be exhibiting a type of compulsion known as "horror vacui" or "cenophobia"--a fear of empty space. She points out that such compulsions rule various design tendencies and perhaps socio-cultural moments like Victorian opulence and kitchy curio-cabinet clutter. In contrast to mid-century minimalism, which has reigned supreme for the last little while. She asks whether it's possible to embrace both tendencies at once.

Translation: Can I be both a collector and a minimalist? Or, put another way, can I keep my vintage camera, bird cages, tree painting and diorama collections (a few of these are on display here) and still have a neat pad?

Answer: I don't know, but I'm going to try...

Do a search for paint by numbers on Google or Technorati, my friend, and you will find some very, very wacky things--like Le Salon de Paint by Numbers, where I found this fan painting.

My friend and neighbor Melissa (not to be confused with Melisse who just wishes she lived in my building) has been collecting vintage paint by numbers for years. She usually gets horses, but she just won two jockeys on eBay, and tells me that there's a bullfighter for sale for $350. I couldn't find it, but I did find this Tuscan scene for $450, which seems a little steep if you ask me...

There have been a few interesting variations on the theme. Grace at design*sponge found these Jenny Wilkinson's  border-by-numbers wall decorations, which I like because I might actually finish them.

I also found Curtis on Apartment Therapy, who actually transfers paint-by-number designs onto his walls. Very cool.

What got me thinking about this was this birthday present from my friend Patti--it's a paint-by-number that she's been working on all summer long to relieve stress. I see evergreens, but I'm thinking it may not belong in the wall of trees. I kind of like the idea of keeping it pure trees. Am I wrong?

I was in Pawleys Island, South Carolina recently where I discovered this handmade needlepoint wall hanging. I hemmed and hawed about getting it--I think it was seven dollars--but I'm glad I did. The colors are really beautiful in my house and the handiwork is perfect. This was one of a pair--the other had a green background, which you'd think I'd like. But for some reason, I couldn't abide it. It was almost too beautiful and too green, if there's such a thing.

What about a wall of needlepoint? Has anyone seen anything interesting like that around?

Melissa moved the starburst clock from the hallway to the living room. What do you think?

More later...

So, I've hung six of my seven tree paintings. Are they straight? I need to get Mel over here with her level again. Actually, it's thanks to her that they're up to begin with. An hour before my guests were due to arrive on Saturday, I was still cleaning the house. Mel took charge of the living room and got these pictures and some others up before anyone got here.

See the big blue leaf in the upper left? My friend Matthew did that one. It's a sun print of a leaf he found in Prospect Park. On top, he's placed a eucalyptus leaf that's got this beautiful purple hue in the middle of it. It's not a whole tree, but I think it belongs in the collection. There's no reason to be strict about what constitutes a tree, is there? That's actually a real question--not just about the trees. If you have a decorating idea, do you let it evolve? Or is that dangerous?

Hi. I think I might have to move...

I tap danced to "Fight the Power" last night. On the wooden floor in my living room. At midnight. Above my neighbor's apartment. I wish I had the photos to prove it, but alas, I deleted them by accident. And my friend Ann did her own show to Rush's "Tom Sawyer."

Lots of good housewares. Two new tree paintings. I'll show you the wall tomorrow. Promise.

Holly asked, so I'll tell you that last night Melisse took me to see Absinthe, a cabaret circus in the Spiegeltent (mirrored tent) that's set up in lower Manhattan. I can't tell you how much fun it was--and how much it made me long for a 1920's Berlin, vintage aesthetic in my home. I've had other surprise presents since then, but I'll spare you stories about the vinotherapy scrubs and other amazing things I've gotten, and just stick with the household items. This vintage chemset box from my fundy Andrea may seem like a bit of a stretch, unless I out myself as the diorama artist that I am. I make three dimensional collages a la Joseph Cornell, which will figure prominently in my decor. You will see something inside this box besides the orange stickie declaring Andrea's love for me that's there now. Any ideas? Then, this afternoon the doorman rang to tell me that someone had dropped off a package for me. It was Cortelyou Vintage-grown tomatoes and basil wrapped up this adorable kitchen towel.

How can you tell if your couch is worth saving? I've been told this one that I inherited from a friend's aunt has good bones, and that I should keep it and get it recovered. But I have a really hard time seeing past the fact that my cats turned it into a scratching post the day they met it. In fact, I have a hard time imagining that they won't turn any couch into a scratching post. Like in the cartoons when a famished wolf looks at a pig and sees a pork chop, I look at a couch and see a scratching post. Talk about manifest destiny.

My kitties even destroyed this leather couch. I'm not really into brown leather couches (my mother has had the same one for thirty years and it's so flaccid now, even children can't get up from it). But I took this hand-me-down from some friends because I thought maybe, maybe the cats would leave it alone. But no. My friend Isaac is always telling me how much he loves how worn in my leather couch is. I think, sure, if you like that raw, been-in-a-cage-at-the-zoo-with-a-leopard look.

I'm at a total loss. A while back, people had a conversation about this on Apartment Therapy, but I just get this sense that eveyone who owns cats has resigned themselves to a ruined look.

If you have hope, now's the time to share it.

Psych! You thought that was my house! It's not...

Apparently, dear readers, I've let one of you down because I didn't post early enough yesterday. I'm sorry. Tomorrow is my birthday and my friend M is taking me out to a surprise performance of some sort and warns me that she will keep me out late. In honor of her and because I don't know when I'll get to post tomorrow, have a look at her lovely house.

Notice her taste and how tidy she is compared to me. I know, compare and despair, but really. She says my house looks like a furniture showroom with all the bedroom furniture pushed up against the walls where the repairmen left it last year after a fire. Hers looks like a beautiful modernist room at the Cooper-Hewitt.

She's a part-time therapist, so I'm sure she'll want me to point out the fainting couch. Did you see it up there?

Pop quiz: what's the difference between a couch and a sofa?

I haven't bought furniture at a new store in ages, but I saw this lamp at The Door Store of all places, and I kind of like it with the lucite balls. What do you think? Would it go with my mid-century pieces?

Okay, this is embarrassing, but here's what my bedroom closet looks like these days. It's okay; I live alone. But...it's not okay. Because I can't find any of my clothes. I am not a New Yorker without enough closet space. I am a New Yorker with too many clothes and not enough hangers.

So, I thought about getting some from Bed Bath and Boys the other day. And there are these from the Container Store--they twirl around so you can face your clothes either direction, just like in a department store.

My friend Melisse says you shouldn't pay for hangers or pencils, but the alternative is very, very scary. What do you think, do you pay for hangers?

Take this gorgeous, already sold painting by Camilla Engman that Holly from decor8 pointed me to in her post about the Flaunt show at the Junc Gallery in LA. Would you look at those trees? Did I mention that the painting is sold? It reminds me of a conceptual cross between The Giving Tree (remember?)

and Rodin's sculpture, The Thinker.

It's called: "my mind is troubling me", which I kind of identify with, you know?

I chanced upon a secret flea market this weekend in Manhattan, where I found this cute little blue and white tree painting for twenty dollars. I think I'll add it to my wall of trees, even if it's just found art. It's not signed, but the scene is identified on the back as Lake Placid Birches. I wonder who painted it--I forgot to ask--but the two women selling it were selling things outside a little back house in Chelsea. You got to them by passing through a covered alley that led to a small courtyard between buildings.

It reminded me a bit of a back house in the West Village that an acquaintance of mine used to live in. She calls it her "lost love" in her blog This Shelter Life. I knew Alex through my own lost love, so it's ironic that we both wound up blogging about our houses. I remember going to a party at her house and feeling so lucky to be there--the weather was beautiful, the Yankees were in the World Series and she was serving the most amazing snacks. Now I just feel lucky to have found her blog and see the house again.

Have you ever been to a party like that? In a house that feels like it was part of a dream?

...with my bathroom. I realized this when Germi responded to my post about Pearl's Street Girls sign, asking if I was planning to redo my bathroom. I'm not. Not really. I love the Deco tile. It's yellow, yes, but it reminds me so much of the tile in the house my mom grew up in, in a great neighborhood called University City, in St. Louis, Missouri. Her house was a little brick number with a stone turret that was built in the 1920's, I'm guessing. But it was gorgeous. The wooden-framed screened door in the front of the house was so solid that my little brother once clipped off the top of his pinky finger when it closed on his finger, and we had to rush him to the hospital with his little finger in a jar of ice-water. I digress (and make my mom look bad)...

I grew up in a new house built in 1970 on farmland outside St. Louis, Missouri with doors so flimsy you could punch a hole right through them--movie set doors, I call them. The suburb was called, get this, Creve Coeur--that's "broken heart" in French. So symbolic. At the risk of hurting my mother's feelings, I'll venture that desipte Sue Ellen's magic, the house didn't have a lot of character. There were no architectural details, and no bright tile in the bathroom. So I've longed to live in an old house--in a Deco house, actually. And now I do.

In any event, my yellow bathroom stays. I may revisit this, but in the meantime, I'll just adjust little things. French guy decorator who was here ages ago during my friend's wedding recommended using a white shower curtain to tone down the yellow. I like the clear one because it's such a small space and I get claustrophobic in the shower. What do you think?

Some people say all you need is love. As it turns out, they're wrong. After a fruitful day of shopping with my friend Mel, which I'll stretch out over a few blog entries, I've concluded that to get things done around the house, all you need is money...and the love of a good friend.

Remember this lamp that Isaac thought I was nuts to buy? It's been here for about six weeks without a shade. But I just bought one today. I had to. People are coming to my house for a party and I have no have light. I got this functional shade at Bed, Bath and Beyond, which my friends and I call affectionately Bed, Bath and Boys, for reasons I'll leave to your imagination. Notice, this shade isn't on the BBB website, which makes me recommend going to the store for the the extra inventory, if not for the boys.

No, that's not my Street Girls Bringing Sailors sign...

It's from Pearl's Mecca of Kitsch and Memory-- one of the house tours on Apartment Therapy. I am such a megalomaniac that when I first saw this photo I was convinced Pearl had photoshopped my sign into one of her pictures. Alas, I was delusional. It seems that mine isn't the only Street Girls sign. All that business about authenticity. Sheesh. I'm now wracking my brain trying to remember where I actually found it. All these years, I thought I'd found it at a thrift store in Iowa, but maybe I'm wrong. I suppose it's still funny and resonant even if it is a fake.

Eureka! I found the go-to person for unique, handmade shades for all those shadeless lamps you see lurking in the background of my photos. Thanks to Grace at design*sponge who discovered that one of her readers, Julie (company name Another Shade of Grey), hand draws each shade in ink or graphite. Grace was smart enough to ask how they can be cleaned--apparently a lint roller will do the trick.

They come in a couple different sizes, and the prices, which range from $35-$50, are right. I'll let you know what I wind up getting.

This post could also be headed Collection Item #3--because I have two other cordial sets, and if you ask me, three of something useless a collection makes. I found this "Parisienne" cordial set in its original box for $12 at Reap Tide (843) 237-5114--a little resale shop in Pawleys. It's so pristine--it's never been used before and the box even has the original padding in it. Of course twelve bucks seems like a lot when you consider the fact that I got two garden chairs for ten a few weeks ago...

This set joins these two on the tippy top shelves in my kitchen cabinets. For now.

First by way of apology, let me take a minute to thank heavens that I don't earn my living selling stuff on eBay, because these pictures stink... And they certainly don't do these objets justice.

As with the vintage cameras, I wonder how--or if--I should display these. Maybe a kitchen hutch?

I'm not bitter. But this place was really sweet to call home for five days. Every morning I got up and walked a few miles on the PRIVATE beach looking for sand dollars (found one!), came back for a swim, and ate two breakfasts in a row.

I miss the sound of the surf, but here I've got the whir of my happy retro fan, and Emma's quacking to keep to me company.

Wait til I show you what I found down there at a few vintage shops...

Hi-
I'm in South Carolina on Pawleys Island where they make the great hammocks. I thought I might be able to blog from there, but alas, with all the meshuga with the airports I don't want to risk bringing a computer on board.

Wish me luck--the last time I was here there was a hurricane.

Family Feud. That's what this is. On the one hand, I have this gorgeous Art Deco apartment and bedroom set, which feels like family I've had it so long. On the other, there's this mid-century stuff I inherited from my family. How are they supposed to live together?

Hey, did you catch that tree photo in the background of my camera collection. It counts, even if I got it before I started the collection, right? Think of it as the originary tree or the proverbial tree of knowledge. It knew before I did that I'd wind up with a collection of tree paintings on my wall. And, this one has two trees on either side of the painting, just like Frank's.

Here's the real story: My friend Vanessa painted this picture for me when we were in college. We always joked around about how it seemed so dark (there's an intense, private Kate Bush quote from "The Saxophone Song" on the back that adds to that feeling). But Vanessa just ran out of white paint.

Do you see the little white silhouette of me agains the one tree?

Okay, how scary is that--all those cameras pointing right at you. Someone asked me the other day if they work, and I realized that I have no idea. But I've got a lot of them. I wonder how they'd look on a shelf in the living room. I make dioramas too--one of which you can see in the background. How can I display these?

Okay, stop looking at my books. Meet my bird cages.

They've been there since I moved in. Well, I brought them in, but you get the picture. I make diorama's inside old drawers and occasionally--well, once--I mounted one inside a bird cage. I also planned to use the cages to keep plants safe from my cats. I thought I was so clever until Rita Konig found a beautiful overgrown bird cage on the Upper East Side the other day. There's nothing new under the sun.

Incidentally, the books are just Marguerite Duras' "Le Vice Consul" (in French, thank you very much), James Frazer's "The Golden Bough" and Erica Jong's "How to Save Your Own Life." Another peek into the real me...

I have one happy fan and one sad fan. One very sad fan.

Can you guess which is which? I'll give you a hint. Happy fan just looks old. Unhappy one just looks old. And it's falling apart, and it's got weird orange disks that might be interesting on a different body. But not on this one.

Glam retro black standing fan from Restoration Hardware is a recent acquisition and one of those shiny-and-new things that acts as a foil to the grungy stuff around the house. Like the ceiling fan that is not only offensive to look at, but was also hastily installed by amateurs, too close to the top kitchen cabinet, so the fan can't be going when you need dishes. I have to keep it rubberbanded close during parties. When I'm alone, I often keep a yellow stickie on it that says "Fan On, Fan Off?" Like I'm The Karate Kid.

When I redo the kitchen, I don't want to get rid of the cabinets, so I think the fan, like Romeo, must die. (Sorry, martial arts films on the brain...) Unless anyone knows of any ceiling fans with really, really short blades. But isn't that just pointless?

How about this one from Arch LIghting that Brieanne has on her design blog Domestically Inclined: Philadelphia Nests?

Wow, thanks to decor8 for finding the gorgeous pendant lighting from Zia Priven. Now I know exactly where I'm going to get the light for my hallway. I'm also thinking that since my living room needs to function as both a living area and an office that it might be nice to use something like this in the living room. I'm really at a loss about what to do with the fact that there's no overhead light in that room.

Can I just hang something like this in the middle of the room?

Picture this:

This morning I made an appointment to have my first painter come and give me an estimate. Scary. Doubly scary because she's a rock star too, formerly of The Breeders. And she can skim coat! I won't say her name until I talk to her, but how many people get a rock star to paint their house?

The closest thing I know is my mom's painter and wallpaperer when we were kids--Curly she called him. He sang opera and cooked delicious meals for us. More on him later.

Sorry for the repeat photo, but people have been asking about the color of my walls. There are actually two colors--three walls are painted Benjamin Moore's Dill Pickle 2147-40--it doesn't look anything like the color you see on this Colorcharts site, but my photo is pretty accurate.

And the other color, which is slightly darker, is Benjamin Moore's Basil Green 2029-10. That's pretty true on my computer screen. I heart it!

I scored this file cabinet about five years ago at a flea market in Brooklyn. I got it late in the day so it was pretty cheap--I think I paid $100 for it. But I'm not the most reliable narrator when it comes to reporting how much I paid for things. I realized this the other day when I was telling someone I paid three dollars for a vintage dress that most certainly was not three dollars--it was eleven. Small potatoes, I know, but nevertheless the deal is in the details. Case in point...look at the drawer mechanism on this thing. In any case, this gorgeous hunk of wood was a dream come true. I'd been coveting a friend's antique file cabinet for years. You know when your friends get grown up things before you do and it just makes you feel a little poopy. Vanessa's file cabinet had that effect on me. But now I have my own and I feel all adult about it. If only I had an office to put it in, it'd be my pride and joy. But I don't. So it has to somehow fit into the scheme of things in my living room, which is fast becoming a hodge podge of styles. Should I try to make it work with the mid-century furniture, or just move it out into the hallway somewhere?

A reader just asked me if I own my apartment because I'm doing so much work on it. The answer is yes, I do own it. I bought it about a year ago. I'd been living in the apartment for a few years before I bought it, subletting it from the building sponsor.

In New York, a lot of apartments are "coop" bulidings, meaning they're co-owned. Usually one person--known as the sponsor--puts up a large portion of the money to buy the land and the building, and then he or she creates a corporation. Apartment owners then buy shares of the company rather than the actual property. It's kind of confusing, and that's a simplistic explanation, but you get the picture.

You can get a sense of the great coop vs. condo debate if you look at Curbed, where you'll find this chart of coop vs. condo prices in New York.