Besides all the usual distinctions, such as: pattern or none/color or simply white/highly and tightly edited. or stuff and more stuff and yet more stuff (you know, salon style), perhaps homeowners may be divided into two camps: those individuals who regard a bit of dust and the stains of everyday wear as all contributors towards the charm and character of a well-lived life; and then there are other individuals who are fanatic about dusting/polishing/vacuuming, and are well versed in all manner of cleaning portions and remedies for removing anything that belies age, or is a departure from the internalized image(s) all too often perpetuated by the creations featured and sanctioned in the model-showroom/the magazine layout/the carefully crafted movie, where subliminally success/peace-of-mind/happiness is best experienced via a matching bedroom suite just perfect for romance/a gleaming dining-table sans finger-prints/a spacious bath where towels are fluffy and carefully folded, mildew never gathers in grout lines, and any evidence of our (troublesome) physicality can be quickly flushed away (out-of-sight, and out-of-mind). This dichotomy has been mined to great effect by savvy advertisers, who clearly know that deep down, many of us are aesthetically timid, existentially fearful, and snobs who prefer the company of others who mirror like ideals/values/prejudices. And thus the phenomena known as the box-office hit/the best-seller/top-of-every-critic's list, and so forth . . .
Bernice, our acerbic blog-editor, begged to differ on some of my (finer) points. She stated that irrespective of the inner vision that propels some to gather/clutter/fidget/fuss about accessories and doodads, what ultimately separates the two camps, is the issue of upkeep and maintenance. Homeowners with the bucks to hire cleaners (when so desired), can indulge in the fantasy of worn, lived-in elegance, sort of the English (or American) country-estate where dogs are allowed everywhere, biscuit crumbs fall and lay, and invariably Cook has a tasty morsel at ready, to be devoured within sight of the framed ancestor-paintings (or something like it). Other folks, who shuttle between driving to work/dry-cleaners/baby-sitters/grocery-store/school-events may be less inclined to indulge in any fantasy but that of keeping it all clean, and somehow folded/sorted/stored/filed away, and paid for without crumbling under the pressure of interest rates/late fees/surcharges in mini-print. And I guess I understand Bernice's position, which may be similar to that put forth by Hilary Rosen who perhaps touched upon a collective nerve regarding class or entitlement when she pointed out that the wealthy worry less about less than those (who have less, do), because they have more to do more with--regardless of circumstances; it just seems that there are more choices, and options available, including better health care, help with the kids, financial security, and housekeeping chores. All things to consider the next time I see a TV ad for a self-cleaning oven, or a Dyson power-vac, or a trite political ad.
Hope you enjoyed today's visual treat by the talented Muriel Brandolini.
PS: Today's soundtrack is Bas Amro's Ten (Vincenzo Remix)