The Cold, Bleak Austerity of "Modern" Decor

Normally, I enjoy staying in hotels - it's fun to pretend to be pampered because someone else cleans the bathroom. But a recent hospitality stay left me questioning the experience.
The place was new -- crisp and "modern" -- its businesslike facade hiding that behind the contemporary aura is an essential cheapness.
The turned-down beds, consisting of white sheets, undersized pillows and a flimsy layer of dark fabric pretending to be a comforter, exuded an air of austere sternness. The black resin desk and end tables -- you see these at box stores, marketed toward college students -- reinforced that this room was no place like home, at least no home I want to live in. (Sadly, judging from design magazines circulated through the licensing industry, it's the type of home we're being prepared -- through TV, through movies, through advertising, through peer pressure -- to accept. Will we?)
The color palette was dark blue, charcoal, and slate grey, and the "artwork," true to the dictates of the home design industry, matched the rug. If they had cut out a rectangle of carpet and put it behind glass, they couldn't have done better.
In short, whoever designed the place did a remarkable job of replicating the office cubicle. Which makes me wonder, who designs this stuff, and why? And more important, why would anyone pay money to sleep in an office cubicle?
Minimalist, impersonal, stark, cold, lacking any sense of texture, warmth, color, or personality, the decor of the corporate world is not designed for human beings, but drones.
It's something to think about.
Artwork Is So Much More Than Decor
Because we live in a corporate global economy with a religious fervor to sell us stuff, all the time, artwork is reduced to its lowest state, that of a decoration or knickknack that happens to hang on the wall. And because it's just a knickknack, its principal purpose is to match the rest of the room, which is where we get that tiresome maxim of the home design industry, "Match the artwork to the rug!"
But art does so much more than that, when we look for work that is painted with emotion and soul, by an artist with emotion, soul, and skill. Art invites us into a world of beauty, and by encouraging us to view that beauty, reflect upon that beauty, and dream about things that could be as we walk away from the lies and seek out the truth, art shows us something that we're in danger of forgetting: life is not meant to be lived in an office cubicle.
(The image to the left is Light of Zion -- take a moment to pause, and gently let your eyes run over it. Join the woman in the image as she walks -- almost floats -- through an incredibly beautiful, rugged landscape, amazingly, with heels. How does she do this? My own story sees her as walking through life, transcending its difficulties by grace and a dependence upon a higher power who is the Father of all mankind. Your own story will be different -- but the painting, unlike a movie in which everything is set up for you to follow and accept, invites you to ponder, wonder, dream, imagine, and think. Light of Zion is available both as an original painting at Steve Henderson Fine Art as well as a print, and image on products -- like coffee cups, yoga mats, and phone cases -- at Steve Henderson Collections.)
This post is linked to Family Fun Friday, Share Your Style, and Sharefest.



























Buying art directly from the artist isn't such an unusual thing. In these days of galleries and exhibitions and professional art organizations and non-profit art cooperatives, we've been trained into thinking that we can't deal with, talk to, or see the artist directly, but really, this is one of the best ways to purchase art.




























