But where do you get your inspiration?
Finding inspiration in the ordinary
When you get to the stage in your career where you start to get interviewed by magazines, tv or other publications, the question journalists love to ask designers is this:
“Where do you get your inspiration?”
It is almost impossible to answer this without sounding trite.
“Art galleries, fashion, travel, old books…”
All of which I’ve said before and genuinely meant when interviewed about my books or my styling work. But the reality is that sometimes inspiration comes from a walk on a gritty high street filled with barbers, fruit markets and pound/dollar shops. Because being inspired isn’t always about seeing beauty and replicating that beauty in your work. Often it’s about seeing the antithesis to what is considered traditionally beautiful or tasteful and letting it open your mind to other ways of living and being (and decorating).
As a life long city dweller who moved to a small seaside town (albeit a creative one) a few years back, I sometimes feel stifled by the smallness and sameness of it. This doesn’t mean I’m moving, but it does mean I have to be extra vigilant that things don’t stagnate, particularly when a lot of my work has actually been in my own home as it has in recent months.
Despite being a homebody, I often get a physical yearning to escape. I go for runs and I meet friends and I go to local events and I try to stay connected, but sometimes I get (*here I whisper because it is a dirty word in my house)…bored.
So when my son asked me if I could send him a few things that he was storing in my loft, I jumped at the chance to drive them to him instead. I also hadn’t seen him in six weeks which in empty nester mother years is like a decade.
I drove from Margate to Peckham, parked up at his flat, dropped off his requested things (a soldering iron set, some bedding) advised on a few interiors issues in his room - obviously - and then we walked into town. Following the familiar route he cycles home late at night when he finishes work in a bar, I feel like I know a bit more about his day to day life now, something that you know less and less about as your children grow and build their own lives, but as a parent, you still yearn for.
Having moved to North London when I returned from the States 14 years ago, and having grown up in West London as a child, I don’t know South London well at all, and to see it through my young son’s eyes, this place that he has fallen in love with over the last year, was in itself inspiring.
It was a true reversal of roles, him showing me around, sharing his favourite spot for a bagel or the charity shop with the weirdest and cheapest stuff (he is my child after all). We bumped into his friends, all achingly cool and sweet. We laughed at how Rye Lane, like many English high streets, becomes like the repeating background loop in old cartoons if you walk far enough - barber, fruit market, butcher with dead chickens hanging by their necks, phone shop, bougie restaurant/bar, nail salon, charity shop, repeat.
I don’t know if it was simply that I’ve been a bit starved of newness lately, but I was like that stereotypical character in a formulaic film - country girl goes to the big city! Look at that fruit market and all those chillies! Wow, the font on that bookshop signage is so basic and cool! This furniture shop is so tacky, I love it! Check out the art deco building above that chicken shop! I mean, I was idiotic about it all but luckily my son is the perfect partner in crime in this scenario, equally interested and curious.
As we walked along, me gawking at everything like a wide eyed country bumpkin, we chatted about dating apps, agreeing that they are only good for looking at with a friend and howling with laughter. Or in my case, for screen grabbing hilariously depressing profiles to send to my married friends who are considering ending their marriages (I’m joking of course, because facing endless dating profiles of men who claim their idea of happiness is finding the perfect Sunday roast and I’m certain have never read a book, is still better than being in a relationship you know isn’t right).
We’d wanted to go to a Persian restaurant my son had heard about and whose menu looked incredible, but it was closed for a book launch and filled with a motley crew of interesting looking people all laughing and eating. Instead we snuck into the adjoining food shop, country bumpkin over here oohing and aahing at the case of sweet delicacies and the shelves bursting with spices and the chilled containers of dishes I’d never heard of. We vowed to come back with his sister another time and went instead to the aforementioned bagel shop, a hole in the wall that serves unusual combos. Honey and chilli powder on a cream cheese bagel, topped with gherkins and capers. Weird and delicious and something I will replicate at home.
My son showed me one of his favourite bookshops, knowing I’d appreciate its compact size and un-alphabetised shelves of all manner of extremely inexpensive books. Loosely organised by category but with little labelling in place, you simply see where your eye is drawn and that is where the magic lies.
We bought 4 books for about £12 - one on female designers from the past couple of centuries, a tiny copy of Nana by Emile Zola with a beautifully illustrated cover that my mum would’ve loved (she was Nana to my kids and my son spotted this book immediately), a zine my son wanted and, most randomly a book about a man who walks the M25, a huge motorway that circumnavigates London - just because it sounded like the weirdest adventure and I think maybe that’s what I’m craving right now.
I guess this post is about that as well - finding meaning and inspiration in the ordinary.
As we walked back, we popped into a few charity shops, I bought a striped mug for 50p (I actually bought two but broke one before I could get it home and that is why I can’t have nice things, hence the 50p mug). My son bought a CD of Everything but the Girl - yes I said CD - one of my favourite bands when I was younger, that he’s recently discovered.
As a techy art student he is always on the hunt for old toys that he can - as I like to say - corrupt. A Telly Tubby he can program to say weird things perhaps or a mask of Sully from Monsters Inc that he is rigging up to be able to sing. Just because. Creativity needs no explanation.
One of our last stops on my hillbilly tour of Southeast London was one of those furniture shops that boggle my mind. Filled with what I would call gaudy, tacky and overpriced, but some call aspirational and “I know I’ve made it when I have that gold and black throne chair in my living room”. I know you know what I mean, at least if you’ve ever walked a high street in London. Here’s the thing, I love these places! They remind me to not be a snob and that good taste is a matter of opinion. I wrote here about a 2012 documentary made by artist Grayson Perry, All in The Best Possible Taste (which annoyingly you can’t watch anywhere). I feel like this is what he was talking about.
Let’s not forget that what I currently consider beautiful in my own home is unpainted plaster, an absolute travesty I imagine, to the person who would buy this black and silver lacquered wardrobe.
Three hours in Peckham and I felt like a new person, not because I’d seen anything relating specifically to interiors - although the bookshop did have the most perfect, simple bookshelves which one day I might copy - but because I saw every day life, different from my own and it energised me in ways an art gallery wouldn’t have on this particular day.
I’d love to know if there are any unusual things or sights or sounds that have peaked your interest lately and made you feel alive.
As always, thanks for reading x
Really appreciated this. I too am from London originally, also an empty nester with an interest in interiors and styling and 2 sons in London, living in a sometimes parochial coast city! Would move back in a heartbeat but lack the deep pockets! Instead I take bite-sized chunks as often as possible and always come away with renewed zest for life. I love to look up too and see the history above. With an interest in the social history of the 60s and 70s, I love to go places I know were prominent in the counterculture and imagine how it was, helped by childhood memories of Stoke Newington before it was bougie-central. I always enjoy your writing and feel this platform is a good fit for you.
Oh god…