On Contrasting Against The Familiar
Here, we believe in making things that are meant to be kept, things that are chosen because we’ve fallen in love with them. They then become a fixture in our spaces and hold true through seasons. When I started MARSE, this concept evolved from a reason to design for textiles into an underlying mission of the brand and our guide for decision making.
Even still, we feel change from outside us —whether it be from the seasons or with the phases or our lives—which drives the need to change our surroundings. One of our key tenets, “Contrasting against the familiar,” not only means literally creating differently and clashing of design styles in a space or composition, but it also means philosophically thinking differently about how we participate in consumerism, a process through which we are told to buy certain items because of the season. I’m not against picking up a new lasting piece or two when inspired, or the idea of changing our surroundings when we feel a bigger change occurring. However, I’m conscious of feeling the need to contrast against the familiarity of our time’s consumerism so as to not purchase things that we will likely donate, or worse, throw away. I’m also not against an economical purchase, thus creating a high/low mix in our surroundings. My philosophy—and thus the MARSE philosophy—stems from the design process: viewing elements with a critical lens, editing down, and purchasing lasting pieces that resonate. And whether adding that piece now or later, the following environmentally sound and budget-friendly approaches curtail the need for contrasting against that familiar urge to buy. In other words, buy it when you love it, or try:
The rearrange.
This is my go to—and, at times, almost an issue. I rearrange often—moving furniture, rehanging pieces (then either proudly remembering to putty the holes or decide that I’ll likely move something there later reusing the nail hole and thus leaving it)—allowing me to see the spatial flow and light bouncing in new ways. For a lighter lift, I rearrange books, plants, and candles to create new vignettes.
The nature steal.
If you’re lucky enough to have a great tree or a few plants surrounding your living space, cut a large branch or a few different sizes to fill a vase. If you’re brave enough, cut a piece or two on a walk around your neighborhood. I’ve yet to follow through with the latter, but I’ve contemplated it many times when I see a branch with incredible leaves or a gorgeous shape.
The thrift.
Just visiting second-hand or antique stores often suffices my desire to buy. The hunt and the dig are an adventure alone and after examining my mental list of considered finds, I either walk away feeling excited for the treasure I found, like glass candle sticks, or the renewed joy for the pieces I’ve found on previous hunts without purchasing anything new.
The library addition.
I’m not much of a collector, more of a minimalist when it comes to things, but with books and magazines, I’ve realized I could be considered a hoarder. Thrifted or new, the addition of a design, history, poetry, or French book provides a new read and a new object for aforementioned vignettes.
The greatest piece that makes a design, whether it be graphic, interior, or poetry? The white space—room to breathe, appreciate the elements present, move through it with a beautiful rhythm and contrast against the familiar.
