Good things of the past are well-remembered: the first love, the most-daring childhood pal, the highest-scoring ballplayer, the favorite aunt. Easily recalled too are the nostalgic periods of American home decor: French Provincial. Early American. Italian Renaissance this or Baroque that. Or Federal. Names like Moderne, Art Deco, mid-Century came later to our vocabulary. These were the decorating mantras we grew up with, how we labeled the looks of our homes. Depending on one’s pedigree, some lived with the real thing, but most of us grew up with reproductions.
My mother was into Victorian decor for the living room and my father went along. Our den was a blend of 1950s and ’60s, “mid-Century” I learned later; the bedrooms appointed with bedspreads named Queen Elizabeth, William and Mary, Queen Ann. The living room, though, was where we steered the first-time visitors. It was the showpiece of our house. We, the children, weren’t allowed in there so we never had to live with plastic coverings but it was a plastic room nonetheless. Piece by piece, they planned it. Every so often, my parents would haul in some new thing, the biggest being the undulating green velvet sofa with carved, curved mahogany arcs that made overtures all by themselves. More were to come: tufted velvet chairs, heavy marble-top tables with wavy legs; a gilt mirror to be placed over a tightly corseted red loveseat. That was the look, cookie cutter and overstated as it was.
No one lives that one way now, or no one should. Today we are more eclectic: we are minimalist, we are contemporary, we are into all kinds of antiques, from Deco to the go-go ’60s and ’70s. We mix and match. We are everything. And that’s the “fine romance” of it all, as homeowners are rediscovering choice elements of the past and mixing them with the new. Now if only I could convince my mother to reupholster that green velvet Victorian sofa in a taupe silk mohair and give it to me.
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Elizabeth Taylor is on assignment.
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