Minimalism? Hardly.

So I occasionally get accused of being a “minimalist” as if there’s something wrong about that. The ironic thing is, I’m really not that much of a minimalist. I mean, I do aspire to own only things I really need and love, but I’ve got plenty of stuff squirrelled away in my storage room, and my dining room table is currently covered with stuff waiting to be sorted.

Now that I’ve lived here for almost two months, the place is starting to look, well, lived in. I snapped a couple of shots of the living area just before bedtime, after a very lazy weekend on the sofa. Looking toward the sofa, clearly unstaged:

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And here’s looking in the other direction:

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Not exactly minimalist, eh? The stack of artwork will eventually get moved, but other than that, this is basically how it’s going to look, at least until I can afford to buy some nicer bookcases. The director’s chairs are the ones my parents bought when they got married in 1963. This is the first time I’ve ever had them out in my living space, and I’m starting to really dig them, even though they maybe don’t really fit in.

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