Walk around any secondhand store and you’ll find dusty pink tones — particularly on upholstery and reproduced art. The colors of my childhood comfort me when I uncover them in bins and boxes. My mother decorated in a neo-victorian or maybe Edwardian look. We had a velvet couch, faded maroon. The living area was sponge-panted in pink hues — hand-done by my mother with tips from a ladies’ magazine. Every room, from the bathroom to the hallways had printed floral paintings, often with picnics and ladies with parisols. Above these, faux florals hung — also in faded burgundy tones.
As with most things that cycle out of fashion, I find myself asking why I grew to dislike these colors so much. I suppose it felt dated and a bit inauthentic. We lived in a cape cod — making the combination kitschy.
I hesitate to turn these tones away for good.
I have my own design sins to pay for like spray-painting a dingy brass lamp buttery yellow with twee-inspired abandon.
