I am working on an article about antiques, so I have had to really think about the role they play in our world and in my life. When I moved back to the States, I thought I would only be here for a year or so, but twelve years later, clearly that didn’t happen. I needed to furnish a house from scratch, as I couldn’t imaging living in an empty house. I started haunting antique shops, junk shops, yard sales, auctions and thrift shops in the hope that I could cobble together a decent living situation. 
What I didn’t want to do is go to Ikea, Pottery Barn or somewhere similar and buy a house’s worth of furniture. I knew it would not be the best use of resources in any sense of the word. If I did move within a year, I’d have things that I could sell at a reasonable percentage of what I paid for them, and if I stayed, I’d have pretty decent things that I hadn’t paid an arm and a leg for.
Slowly, over the course of a year, I found pieces I liked, starting with an almost brand new Ethan Allan sofa that someone who lived in a smaller row-house than mine, couldn’t fit through their front door. 
This is the sofa that I ended up making a slip-cover for… a year after I learned how to sew! That’s Connor in front.
Then I found an old steel barrister’s book case, and decided it was the perfect place to put my sweaters. 
An old dresser from my mother’s house, and an inexpensive mirror from a yard sale were what I needed to fill a corner.
When I think about the things in my house now, very few of the furnishings are brand new. 
I like being surrounded by the stories of the items that I collect – after all, you’re really not going to have a story to tell about going to CB2… I can’t imagine living in a brand new house, surrounded by all new furniture. Or even having a new dog! But that’s probably because of the way I was brought up, and that’s my sensibility. What’s yours?
