Animal House

Source: Country Living

I’ve always had mixed feelings – even aversion – toward taxidermy mounts and/or animal skeletons as ornaments in the home. Yes, a stag's head can elevate and give majesty to the dreariest wall, and there’s nothing that quite screams “ski lodge!” or “country estate!” But then there are Bambi and Bullwinkle (of Rocky and Bullwinkle fame), not to mention their real-life counterparts. Don’t they deserve a better fate than to frame the mantle?

Source: Pinterest/pin/5348093277376847/

I struggle with this issue, not least because from an aesthetic standpoint, I have been raised to appreciate the imposing beauty of a taxidermy mount, to marvel at great African cats staged in the Museum of Natural History. But today, I wonder about the significance of having animal bones and mounts in the home. Are they heirlooms, testimony to hunting skills, or purely aesthetic devices? Do we dare treat them as art, as though their function were to satisfy our visual greed? 

A few years ago, I wavered over acquiring a buck mount, with the ambiguous idea of creating a more “traditional” ambiance. The trend was hitting its peak, and you couldn't look at a design rag without seeing hallways, living rooms, even bathrooms festooned with taxidermied creatures and their antlers. The obsession with antlers actually became its own zeitgeist, prompting a staggering outpouring of creativity: 

Source: www.thisnext.com

Source: Lonny.com

And yet, I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was one thing to see these stunning images in a magazine; quite another to touch preserved animals and feel their fine hairs and notched bones as once-living things. I felt a friction between my aesthetic desire and the psychological unease of parading a living thing--particularly a fellow mammal--in my home. In my mind, it was tantamount to hubris. 

Luckily, however, creativity was the solution to the problem it had created. In response to the appetite for antlers and mounts, people started producing a range of 'animal-friendly' options. There are now high-end choices...

Source: squidoo.com

...as well as those that cleverly appeal to and parody the tradition. This category is my favorite. :)

Source: just-antlers.tumblr.com

Source: http://www.madmoose.com/PlushWallMounts.jpg

I know that none of these remotely approach the grandeur of a wild creature, but maybe that's for the best. Fake taxidermy has many benefits: objects are usually lightweight, easy to clean, and sometimes huggable (the plush ones, that is). Best of all, we need never worry if these animals actually wanted to move in with us. 

Afraid of the Dark

Beautiful book cover from http://laurabirdsall.tumblr.com/

When I first read Arthur Miller's play, The Crucible, I remember thinking that I could understand and even sympathize with the bristling hostility of that Puritan community. Yes, there is an actual "witch-hunt"--you'll recall that the play is a dramatization of the infamous Salem Witch Trials. So how could I sympathize?

Because they feared living in darkness.

These were freshly minted settlers, most of whom had never encountered anything as awesome and imposing as the colonial American landscape. On the fringe of their town lay large, ominous forests that housed the unknown--and in the long nights of winter, what could have been more natural than to cast their imagination out into the darkness?

Even today, I can recall the unease of my first Connecticut winter. Watching the light fade in the woods behind our house, it was all too easy to speculate on what phantoms came out in the night. My redemption came in the form of a nightlight.

A casual search for nightlights turns up everything from the generic (left) to the lovely (right). As with everything in design, why invite drab rather than joy into your home? :)

Source: www.engadget.com

Source: www.thegreenhead.com

My favorite nightlights, however, are two that I discovered when Jon and I recently visited Half Moon Bay. We were renting a tiny apartment, which barely accommodated its few sticks of furniture. But on our first night, I discovered and thoroughly delighted in these two charming nightlights (later traced to Etsy: House of Six Cats). 

They had the atmospheric feel of 19th century daguerrotypes, which always give me the impression that time doesn't have to rush by--it can actually be caught and held for a blissful moment. 

At night in that apartment, I was comforted by the sweetness of the nightlights. Outside children's rooms, we typically treat them as homely and functional objects. Yet back in Half Moon Bay, they put me in mind of something I often forget: that darkness has its own particular beauty. Yes, it can be gloomy and grim. But it can also be wonderful--as when I sometimes lie awake at night, listening to Jon breathe, feeling that time has slowed. I'd like to remember that more often. 

A Home at the End of the World

“Home is the nicest word there is.” ― Laura Ingalls Wilder

I never thought I'd start a blog or even a single post with a quote by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I wasn't a huge follower of Little House on the Prairie, and grew up in cultures far removed from the American West. 

And yet...

Home. It's where we start and where we return. Four walls; one roof; a window. Plants for a spot of green; a lamp to cheer the gloom; champagne flutes to toast. Why do these things matter? 

Growing up, I moved across five countries and three continents, therefore giving up as many homes as I got. Along the way, I lived in a two-floor apartment in Bombay, a cottage-y duplex in London, a sprawling house in the Philippines, and a traditional colonial in Connecticut. Each had its own character, smell, and feel. Each began as alien and exciting, and each took on the imprint of my family and our habits. 

I could ramble on about how home is the encapsulation of our inner selves; the inflection point between who we are and who we see ourselves to be. Why, for instance, do I have artfully arranged bud vases in one room, but a series of lint brushes in the other?! 

Suffice it to say, what I have realized over the years is that home is not just a place to rest and eat. A house is its own field of vision; a gallery in which I'm the curator and consumer all at once. When I rest my eyes in any given room, I want to feel something--joy, pleasure, peace. Homes should be enjoyed, not just lived in. Isn't that a good reason to keep coming back?