Column: A Boy’s Life: Empty Wall Syndrome

Finding art for our place wasn’t as easy as we thought

My fiancee and I have lived in our apartment for close to six
months — and we still have yet to officially christen it a home. We don’t have much stuff, and the stuff that we do have, besides the furniture, could mostly be considered expendable. As we fill out our weekly checklist of things we need

My fiancee and I have lived in our apartment for close to six
months — and we still have yet to officially christen it a home. We don’t have much stuff, and the stuff that we do have, besides the furniture, could mostly be considered expendable. As we fill out our weekly checklist of things we need (a better television, less clutter, bookshelves) we always seem to come to the conclusion that these things can wait. One thing we don’t need? Chairs. For some reason, we have about nine of them — but none belong to a table and there are three different colors. Right now, if you walked into our apartment, it could very well be mistaken for an A.A. meeting.

Those issues are solvable: the clutter can be put away, and the chairs can be filled with friends. However, the walls, the big white walls, still remain pathetically barren. They scream for something — anything — to be put on them.

This has been a point of contention since we moved in. Of course, we both have stuff we could conceivably hang: framed articles, framed autographs, personal photo collages, a framed Chinese takeout menu, a Charles Bukowski poster. Sadly, none of this stuff is deemed pretty enough. Right now, I wouldn’t mind plastering the walls with flyers for missing dogs or part-time movers, just so I wouldn’t feel like I’m living on the set of a Stanley Kubrick movie. But neither of us wants just any old eyesore filling our walls; it has to be decorative, but unique — it has to be us. Art seems like a nice idea.

Here’s the problem: Original works tend to be costly. Or, if they’re not expensive, they tend to be ugly.

After we strolled through a gallery in Rittenhouse a few months ago, it was obvious that even though there were pieces we both agreed upon, neither one of us was willing to plop down $4,000 just for the sake of having a runny watercolor portrait of a lady with no face and half a boob.

I was frustrated, and a little resentful to scale down, knowing nothing on our walls would ever appreciate in value. So, every time we’d walk past Amaze Art Gallery at 12th and Walnut, I’d goad her.

“But seriously, this wouldn’t look too bad,” I’d say, pointing to a large 12×20 pastel portrait of what appeared to be a muscular couple having sex. “And, look, it’s only $50!”

It wasn’t working. We needed guidance and a good eye. Lucky for me, I work in an office lousy with chicks who love to give me advice. See the next page for their ideas (and please don’t tell my fiancee they weren’t mine).