A gentle encouragement to trust your gut
People often talk about buying art as if it’s only a transaction.
A decision that needs to be justified, explained, measured, and cross-checked against taste, trends, or resale value.
But living with art isn’t a decision you make once.
It’s a relationship you enter.
And like all good relationships, it rarely begins with logic.
It begins with a small stir in the pit of your stomach.
A lingering glance.
A thought that keeps reappearing.
Something tightens or softens in your chest. You might feel seen. Unsettled. Amused. Comforted. Even slightly annoyed — it doesn’t matter. The point is that it evokes something in you. You don’t always know why. You just know that something in you has recognised something in it.
Instead of asking yourself:
Is this too bold?
Will I grow tired of it?
Is this “right” for my home?
What will people think?
Try asking something simpler:
Does it evoke something in me?
Art doesn’t live on your walls for other people.
It lives for you.
With you.
The pieces that last aren’t always the ones that match the sofa or follow the aesthetic of the moment. They’re the ones that continue to feel relevant because they’re connected to something internal — memory, humour, vulnerability, recognition.
You might not be able to explain your choice to a guest. You don’t need to. Art isn’t a debate to be won. It doesn’t require defending. It asks only one thing of you:
Do you want to live with it?
There’s a quiet confidence in choosing art this way.
Because it’s honest.
So if you’re standing in front of a piece and something in you leans forward — if you feel drawn, intrigued, slightly unsettled, or unexpectedly understood — that’s your answer.
You don’t need permission.
You don’t need a reason that sounds clever.
You don’t need to justify it with trends or theory.
If you love it, it’s right for you.
And that’s the only rule worth following.
If you enjoy these reflections on art, instinct, and living with intention, you’re very welcome to join my newsletter — where I share longer thoughts, studio stories, and first access to new work.