the rug doesn't match the drapes...

I'm not sure that I like modern design. For years I've considered myself a true believer in clean lines, polished surfaces and the absence of frill and fluff as offered by the post modern designers; only to now reflect on my true attachment to this aesthetic.

In the Caribbean, one isn't truly aware of design in the homes that replaced the bungalows of our grandparents. The modern home, built of brick and wrought iron seldom reflected any design, just a stolid functionality. These were places we returned to for comfort and safety not critical analysis. You knew for certain that the rug matched the drapes, everything was secure and that there were no skeletons in the closet. It was when you went out that you looked at the world as a consumer, a critic.

I remember the homes of the first girls I was privileged enough to be invited into. With the commonality of prevailing fashion (matching drapes and rugs), each of these spaces held design cues that enthralled me and still have the power to make me, jaded and lifeworn; smile like a spoiled child on Christmas Day. There is one space in particular that I remember with distinct fondness - after a meal I would lie on the rug with the drapes softly caressing my back as I drifted off to sleep. I felt truly relaxed in that space.

As I grew older and my aesthetic developed through reading, travel, the movies and observation of developing trends; the ideal of clean lines, slick surfaces and the replacement of rugs as space definers with objets d'art began to appeal to me. Some proponents of modern design have gone as far as removing not just rugs but drapes, resulting in as slick a look as possible. This minimalist minority has its fan base' with a compromise for most consumers being the use of blinds to prevent the resulting glares.

Courtesy of my great aunts, I am an aficionado of certain classical composers; Bach being prime among them. The first time I heard 'Air on a G String' resound of the uncluttered walls of such a modern decorated space, I knew I was hooked. The music sounded fresh, it wasn't muffled, the thread of its arrangement lost in the dense furnishings and adornments of tradition...for the first time the progression from top to bottom was plain for me to see.

It's this aesthetic that dominated my life for the last 20 years. I was fortunate during those two decades to share spaces and places with women of like mind, so design choices were powered by implicit agreement. One space that I frequented in Grenada still remains the prettiest I've seen, surfaces all smooth and caressed by the sun, not an inch escaping its touch - a tribute to the owner's cultural milieu in Europe and Brazilian heritage. The space that I shared with A. was beautiful for a whole number of reasons, when we were together there, there was nothing wrong with the world, we could close our eyes and relax. WE experimented with decor...rug...no rug...rug always returning to no rug.

Now, as I live alone for the first time in 18 years, I find myself once again drawn to the security of traditional design; the interest in the sterility of the modern waning. I know for certain that my design choices are not the dense, elaborate fabrics of my grandmother and great aunts, that's just unthinkable.

Rather I see myself appreciating the aesthetics of the early '80s; berber rugs as neatly trimmed and lush as a well tended lawn or maybe even the individuality of a rug that at once defines the space and acts as an invitation to occupy it, to nestle, to touch down. It doesn't even matter to me if the rug matches the drapes... once they complement each other.