I love the aged. I love time-worn.
I love pieces and trees and people that have histories and stories and that have LIVED and experienced.
I often forget this as I see something new and shiny. I get caught up in the IKEA frenzy (and yes, I look forward to doing so again). I want slick and easy.
But again and again, I'm pulled back to the dusty interiors of antique shops. (Not those kind where everything is fixed up and expensive, but the ones where you have to move several boxes to discover the box of rusted keys lying on the floor.) Again and again, I find myself bringing a book up to my nose, allowing the yellowed, decaying pages to kiss my face as I inhale the warm stories told not by the words...but by the scent of age.
This is my inspiration.