Number 20 in 2020.

We moved again a couple of weeks ago. For J-P and I this is home number 20.   Actually, over the past thirty plus years we’ve lived in at least 26 houses in 7 cities and 4 different countries but this is the 20th place that counts. It counts even if we end up staying only a short time, because it’s the first place that we actually own.  Not paying rent feels like stepping out of a cheese cellar into fresh air. We were so accustomed to the funk we had no idea of all the light and freedom on the other side… Still, even though we own the place we didn’t choose it for ourselves, never planned to live in it and have no idea how long we’ll be here, so I promised myself I would find ways to use what we have and not spend time or money on anything more than a fresh coat of paint.   

It’s technically a one-bedroom, 88 square meters, only about 900 square feet.  While I know this is not particularly small by NY or Paris standards, and I like to consider myself a minimalist, we’ve collected furniture, instruments, household junk and two kids since that first 300ft Montmartre garret, where anyone over 5 feet tall had to duck in the kitchen…  So in the weeks between deciding to move and actually doing it, I followed the Marie Kondo method of paring down:  keep only the things that bring you joy.  Even with that, the move was a nail-biter:  we had to unpack everything right away because there wasn’t enough room for boxes and furniture and people.  F was in a play and it was a super-busy time at work so we set an all-time installation record: everything in its new place in a frantic 2 days.   The end result is a far cry from my usual airy white minimalist aesthetic aspiration, but I am surrounded by joy. 

This New Year’s I was missing you all and feeling quietly thankful and thinking about the idea of “provenance” — the stories behind the things that make up our home — so I took some pictures to share.  They don’t cover even half the stories or do justice to the golden afternoon light streaming in from the balcony or the scent of pine and beeswax candles, and I haven’t included any pics of the boys’ room, which is a private mess….But Happy New Year from Strasbourg anyway. Wish you were here.

On the walls of the kitchen: a window found on 89th street and an abstract of apples, painted by F at age 4. Annie made the bowl for clementines. We sacrificed a cabinet to make room for the little cedarwood table originally built for our Havana kitchen and the amazing handmade Cuban imitation Ikea stools. I love these even more because I saw the felled tree from which they emerged, I chased down white gloss paint through all of Havana and waited months for the wood, tools, carpenters and weather to come together in the open-air workshop in Marianao.

This wool rug braided by my mother while pregnant with one of us, has fit perfectly, magically, in every one of our last 18 or so houses. I love how it matches the blue cupboard which was in the back kitchen of J-P’s house growing up. My prized Thonet chairs were rescued from a Dublin skip (that’s Irish for dumpster …)

These salvaged wood bedside tables were made by a talented Cuban architect named Dayron. I’m very proud of my homemade bottle lamps filled with sea-glass from the USA, Ireland, the Caribbean. Brittany …

There was no getting around a big box wardrobe in this storage-starved space, but I drew the line at ugly closet doors. This piece of Marimekko fabric has been waiting for the perfect project. It’s supposed to be a savannah but to me it looks like a storm over Dublin bay