French antiques. The thing about French antiques is that there are many antique reproductions (even antique reproductions from as early as the industrial revolution) that do an excellent job of looking for the real thing yet without the hefty price tag. Unless you are wealthy and a purist for antiques, why spend a lot when you can spend a little?
One thing I have noticed about my antique buying habits is that mixing and matching is a lovely, less expensive combo when styling the home. Something new and old, a little of both, makes a good marriage.
In the above photo, two picture frames frame each other. One is from the mid-1800s the other one is vintage 1950s. Sure up close like this, it is evident which one is older. But as the frames are hanging behind a canape, it isn't easy to get up close and check them out– and in my world, nobody cares if they are old or not.
Take this French candelabra base. It is not a hundred years old, but close. It was a dull golden metal, and I wouldn't say I liked it. But the price was soooooo reasonable that the light golden color started to make my mind think of other options…. and just like that, I bought it; adding a little flat paint and some beeswax, I was able to turn it into something I could appreciate, something that could tease me into pretending I had the real McCoy.
Since I am on a confessional roll, I might as well tell you that I have faux plastic plants in my postage stamp garden. Though I must be honest, the French clay pot is a genuine antique, a bit worn but strong enough to house a faux plastic plant. One thing is sure– when I was away from home (these last seven months), my plastic plants survived and were waving green when I returned.
Note: The plastic plants look so real that my French Husband watered them, and they still survived along with the real ones… though the real ones didn't wave so green.
What matters? Certainly not if the plants are natural or the picture frame is an antique. What matters is that our home base feels safe and nurtures our inner being. Though with that said, I must make one more confession… I am a neat freak. When I came home from California, I nearly bit off my tongue, trying not to have a complete and total meltdown about the state of affairs in our home. Not that it was dirty… oh, if you are a neat freak, you will understand what I mean. I am trying to learn to embrace my inner clutter so as not to be so controlling. Home will be more authentic that way, and my blog might have to forego the word tongue.
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