Stefan doesn’t like my taste in lights. He’s right. I hate to admit it, but I have no taste in lighting. Something just comes over me the minute I try to rise above function.
My latest follies are my bedside lights, sturdy swing-arm efforts with white shades, predictable but not offensive until I tried to tart them up with a bit of leftover fishing net. Now all I need is red gingham cloths, a couple of Chianti bottles and a bad mural of Portofino and I could serve spaghetti at the sad end of Soho.
Another lapse is these hanging lights I couldn’t pass by – well, they were *free*, and I’m a sucker for seahorses. Works of aunt! Someone will love them. Maybe someone with a grotto.
They are sturdy and undamaged but the whole concept doesn’t go in my elemental cabin. Any takers?
P.S. What I really wanted for the bedside lights was straight-sided drum shades I planned to cover with maps. Can’t find them, and now my confidence is gone anyway…