I, Cathy Zielske, make my living in the realm of color and space; harmony and flow, balance and repetition, these are my trade tools…I take words and images and make visual magic. I’m a designer. It’s what I do. In short: I make things look real good.
But you’d never know I make big bucks doing this if you walked into my bedroom. My Room o’ Shame. (Dan would actually call it the Room o’ Fun…at least that’s what he might have called it on his birthday.) But I digress…
Looking at the wall above my bed it’s painfully obvious: I have no real understanding of the concept of scale. Like the whole wearing sweatpants thing—where home décor and my bedroom meet, I’ve essentially given up. Sure. I've got a nice bed and duvet. But that's really where it ends. Remember the grafitti blinds? How did it come to this?
Combine two people who a) think each knows what would work best, far more than the other, and b) are both Pisces and don’t like confrontation, and c) one of them is hesitant to spend money on things…like bedroom furniture (or…cars that run), and you have a recipe for decorating disaster. Okay—maybe ‘disaster’ isn’t the right word. How about decorating malaise?
I recently was reading Dooce.com, and saw picture’s of the Armstrong’s new grown-up bedroom . It made me sick. Sick with a jealous rage because there is no real reason I shouldn’t have the exact same room (minus the dog, of course…afterall, I've got Chip!) I am a designer. I have taste. I have good color sense. But much like my wardrobe and shoe collection, decorating is an area that has slipped into a perpetual state of naptime, where instead of doing anything about it when you wake up, you just go downstairs and eat.
For the past few years, I’ve entertained the fantasy that one day, I will make a video plea to Nate Berkus, and he will come to my rescue because a) he will see my video (or rather, the Oprah Show producers will) and find me so charming and funny and slightly pathetic that they’ll have to say yes, and b) they will realize that there are probably people all over America just like me: those with not a clue and yet a truly challenging space with which to work.
Why does it always seem like the before and afters are done in rooms that are the size of mansion rooms? Give me the closet-sized room, that will never fit a king-sized bed, and turn that into an oasis of serenity of design brilliance. I dare you.
In fact, I volunteer.
Where do I sign?