“I wanted to create my own home and not have someone tell me how to live”, says Lim who shares his loft with French bulldog, Oliver
I’ve always had a wholesome fascination with how people decorate and reside in spaces they call their own. My earliest memories as a child are those of frequenting homes of relatives and strangers and the inanely colossal desire to examine every inch of their abodes; much to the dismay of my parents who always had to keep a watchful eye on their brazenly temerarious daughter. But the enthralment did not end there. During our evening neighbourhood walks I’d pass familiar brick veneer homes and curiously ponder what lay beyond those ghastly mission brown facades. Not so much the happenings itself (let me make on thing straight, I’m not a busy body!), but an innocent inquisitiveness as to what kind of furniture lay await, set up in which fashion. Were there fireplaces in the lounge and was their walls clad in wallpaper like ours were? Was it tastefully decorated and were the floors plush or a mix of both carpet and vinyl like ours were?
These days I find myself wondering the same things, especially during moments of being stuck in traffic. Sometimes taking Miss Coco for walks I find myself searching through shuttered windows trying in vain to get a glimpse inside.
Of course at times it is easier to peer into the domains of well known individuals because of the internets. And for me I adore getting glimpses into the residences of designers and creative types. There’s always such a strong sense of identity in their abodes, never conforming and always authentic. I find it compelling in attempting to understand why they surround themselves with certain possessions. How they do it and with what exactly. Most times a glimpse into their homes is a glimpse into their souls and personalities; almost like an extension of their being. I love Mr Lim’s eccentric mix of mid century and oriental design. Pieces that appear to be more art than practical, industrial contrasting with antique. Like the beaded Yoruba chair, a fanciful flea market find and one that I know I’d be too afraid of spoiling.
|via wall street journal|