I agree. My favorite homes are ones that have evolved over time, or that have a mix of new and old. Rooms that look like they were furnished all in one go never do it for me.

I also like homes where more than one person has input on the furnishings. Sometimes you see a family home and it's all Mom. The kids and the dad hide out in the basement to get away from the chintz.

Patina was always for families of a certain social class with money to buy items worthy of being passed down and enough stuff (or few enought children) that it would be passed down through a generation or two.

Look at the portrait that accompanies this article--most of us don't have commissioned oil paintings of our venerable ancestors to hang on our walls.

Patina aside, please, for goodness sake have that painting sent to a Conservator... (p.s. that's me ;) )

It doesn't have to be fancy portraits and silver. Handmade quilts, embroidered linens, folk art and "tramp" furniture are all incredibly charming.

Kelleyk >
I disagree
Very often what we consider as patina was considered "old" by generations, who were more than happy to rid the house of their parent's victorian clutter, massively ornamental furniture or simply the old pots and pans.
My grandmother actually sometimes got angry when my mother bought "old fashioned" things that represented a social failure to my grandmother's eyes. For her having new things meant a high social status and a good job.
Sontag's quote is not saying that you "must" have beautiful old paintings in your house, but she is just deploring the way that some generations throw away the past. Everyone has at least some old object from their grandmother, patina isn't necesarily a Chippendale sofa or a Painting by Sargent, be it a pair of scissors or an old book.

hrhprincessfiona: I thought it was a lovely argument of allowing ourselves the opportunity to age with our possessions...to give them time to be incorporated into our own lives, recognizing our own history is sometimes outlined by the items passed on from mother to daughter, father to son, grandparent to grandchild. It's not simply recognizing and appreciating old things, but recognizing the inherent beauty of objects with a family history that is fading from the cultural landscape. The patina of furniture is in many ways like character lines that grace our faces, and personally I find both marks of time beautiful/fascinating. One could also find it a patronizing criticism about our modern purchasing habits, but that was a secondary sentiment.

Most of the families I have known with lots of wealth
would not allow their silver to patina they made sure the maid polished the silver constantly.

I did not accept or keep many of my parents things, just not my taste and I do not like a lot of stuff. If I need to see the stuff I can go to my brother's house where he loves lots of stuff.

Gregory's got it--nowhere in this quote does Sontag mention oil paintings of ancestors or other signifiers of wealth. Rather, it's about connection to the past, the hardworking objects ("grandparents' pots and pans") that hold resonance of times past. Especially because I come from a refugee family (and a very working class one on my father's side), I treasure the few objects passed down to me: my great grandmother's wood-framed mirror, the battered velvet box that held my grandmother's candlesticks (the candlesticks themselves sold during hard times). I wish I had my great grandmother's cooking pans--they surely retained some magic--the contents of her soup pot somehow always stretched to feed whomever my great grandfather invited to dinner, along with their own four children. I appreciate this quote in part because it reflects something deeper than just an aesthetic or trend (like painting everything glossy white), a thoughtful place from which to imagine the spaces in which we live, and in times like these, hard times, appreciating the virtues of age, of used things, of things loved and touched by those who came before us.

That is a great quote, and I think it's a direct result of the disposable culture America has created over the last several decades. Our society is more about quantity than quality. That's one thing I admire about Europe. At least it's my perception that quality is valued more on that side of the pond. Look at the suburban tract homes, a truly American phenomenon, and almost every other new structure being built in America today. These structures aren't meant to last, or be used for anything other than a Home Depot or Starbucks drive-thru. The same goes for furnishings too, maybe it's because we're all so 'fashion conscious' that we aren't willing to invest in something well made for fear that it will be out-of-date next season...?

I can see how people with a strong sense of family history (or a yearning for one) might care about ancestral stuff, even if not of monetary value. Many of us just don't care, though. And it doesn't make us lesser beings, just those who consider our own lives sufficient without the "context" of genealogy. I gave the antique quilt I inherited -- the only object of interest in my grandmother's estate -- to another granddaughter for her kids, and I certainly don't miss it. And if they choose to sell it, I say "go for it!"

I like second hand treasures, but mainly because they have a sense of mystery and the exotic to liven up my rooms, not for the "patina of history". And I only get them if they are serious bargains, not things of investment quality, for which I don't care to be responsible. To each his own...

Beautifully put Gregory.

In Europe, the old is regularly incorporated with the new, with an envy-inducing ease. This is true for furniture and accessories, as well as architecture.

It seems to me as if North America, we are addicted to clean slates and the concept of re-birth, of turning ourselves into who we want to be seen as, instead of being ourselves, warts and all. In doing so, we develop amnesia when it comes to history -- our own, and everyone else's -- recreating it as we see fit once we have destroyed the originals -- witness our nostalgic recreations of inauthentic "traditional" designs.

Reflecting on mchatelaine's insights, I can understand to some degree why America might be steeped in this notion of reinvention, newness, rebirth; it is a country that came into being because of a desire to break away from an old society and create a new one. It evolved into a country where one is less pinned to particular social position because of genealogy, a place where those with nothing could work their way up the social ladder and become prominent through hard work and determination. You could, in effect, reinvent yourself here in a way that you couldn't elsewhere. (I know all of that works better in theory than it often does in practice. But my bf is an immigrant who arrived here with nothing but two suitcases of personal belongings and a lot of determination, and despite all of the very real problems, prejudices, and hurdles that persist in this country, he's still strongly believes that there are opportunities to succeed here that are not avaible anywhere else. I value his viewpoint.)

Given the history and relative youth of this country, I can understand the fixation on new, bigger, better, and faster. As with all things, however, this fixation, when taken to extremes, is detrimental. And I think our increasingly disposable consumer culture is nearing, or is at that extreme. As Gregory and LiliZ so eloquently expressed, there is value in the things of the past, connections that can add another dimension to our own personal histories. Appreciating this does not call for a complete repudiation or indictment of all that is new. In other words, I don't think Sontag was advocating pushing the pendulum to the opposite extreme. Rather, I think Sontag's quote is more properly construed as advocating a balance.

"mschatelaine," not "mchatelaine." Sorry, didn't mean to butcher your screen name. One day I will learn to type (and edit).

My very favorite inheritance from my dear grandmother is her potato masher, worn handle and all. It works better than any other one I have ever encountered as well as reminding me of making dinner with her as a child. I love it even more than the full set of blue and white Spode I also inherited. It brings so much more to my life than new or a mixer, and acts as a springboard to family stories and memories. and now my kids all want to inherit it from me. all from a simple kitchen tool that cost $.50 in 1936.

J:

I agree with the points you make...

Actually, my mother came here with me and 2 suitcases, and so I grew up without extended family, or any tangible physical objects that linked me to them, or my family's history. Things changed later, and so I am quite sensitive to the emotional importance of those links, and of having a home which reflects yourself, and your roots; the personal as opposed to impersonal home.

I keep thinking of Milan Kundera books: The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and The Book of Laughter and Forgetting.