One areof beaty in my home is acollection of vintage Olivetti Underwood Typewriters. This print would look really pretty next to them.

Our home was built around 1920. Therefore many things about it were once beautiful, but have since lost their edge. I have doors that aren't level with the floors, that aren't even level with their own molding... but I have one spot true to the 1920's architecture that brings me great happiness.
Back when people ironed everything that left the house, ironing boards were built in... the space where our ironing board cove used to be also has a 10" high, 3 1/2' wide rectangle above it, to hold whatever needed to be on hand.

It became the perfect display area for a collection of old pharmaceuticals and tins that we have. Some of which belonged to my grandmother, and her mother as well! A little bit of family history, a little bit of vintage appeal, and a little bit of beauty. Because all happy memories are beautiful when you get right down to it.

Our front room is... interesting. Our landlady, perhaps under the influence of HGTV and amphetamines, painted one huge wall in a black and white checkerboard, with black accents all around the room. Needless to say, it's a bit intense. The opposite wall has a built-in bookshelf and cubby-type space, which I love, and I've tried to fill it with things that will stand up to that hectic wall without adding to the overwhelming design feel. I'm trying to decorate more with natural accents and materials - I have a few wooden sculptures, and I tend to love anything with birds. This print would fit marvellously in one of our bookshelf nooks - it's got a backsplash of black paint, so the neutral tones would really pop. I love it!

I'm in a new apartment building in a place I "affectionately" call the Land o' Beige. There's no place for a "landing strip". After seeing the film, "No Reservations" and watching Catherin Zeta Jones repeatedly place her keys in a special place and her coat and scarf in their own places, I knew I had to create a landing strip in my apartment.

But where? Inside my front door are steps that lead up into the dining room. So I carved out a space in an unused corner of the dining room just at the top of the steps and placed a few pieces I had in other areas of the apartment in this new area: my antique nightstand in the corner below a mirror/photo frame/key hook piece in dark wood that matched the nightstand along with a calendar on the wall that hugs the corner where the nightstand was placed. In the open area in the nightstand, I put a pretty basket, and on the hooks on the mirror/photo frames, I hung three bags that were made for me by local artists. A gorgeous blue pottery plate rests on the nightstand to hold keys and sunglasses.

Each time my gaze lands on that corner, I smile, and somehow, the day seems brighter and clearer because a corner of my home that made me frown before now makes my heart lighter.

I think the object(s) that I most adore in my home are the beautiful pastels my grandmother did for me of a trip to France we went on when I was 15. It is not only beautiful, but reminds me of my grandmother and my first trip abroad with her.

My biggest treasure and beauty is my first grown-up furniture purchase- wooden credenza from the 60s.
It's in a good shape, has beautiful legs, deep drawers and chocolate-cherry color. Everything in my loving room was picked later to be a company to this credenza- even art.
I am very proud of my first, "real" furniture piece.

I have a haori (type of kimono for males) that my aunt gave me when I graduated college. It's been, for lack of a better word, tie-dyed - it's black, with red flowers and little white circles that are supposed to suggest flowing water. You can tell when you look closely that the circles (and the flowers) were created by tying threads and dipping the haori into the dye. It's a really simple piece, but the workmanship behind it still blows my mind.
Here's a picture of it:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/solaana/875772491/in/set-72157600961733032/

Our new condo is a thing of beauty, and while it has not been cared for properly, it has also escaped the 1980s renovations that destroyed many others in the building. It is a long and rambling half-floor in a 1901 apartment building. Before we bought it the entire apartment wore a 15-year-old coat of off white paint over the moldings, ceilings and plaster. But despite that blandification, the fireplace stood out even then as simply and perfectly beautiful. It is carved, but not too ornate. Dentil molding finishes the bottom of the mantel so it looks crisp. On the hearth and around the opening is original dull green subway tile, imperfect and handmade. A single line of thinner cream tile borders the hearth. Inside the fireplace is the original cast-iron liner, with a raised border and exuberant bouquet of flowers. The room is now painted in Silver Fox (BM), with White Dove trim, perfect for the light that floods through the bow windows in front—the glass in them is curved. The apartment is still pretty chaotic and undecorated, but when I sit in the living room and look at the fireplace and windows I know that despite the ancient, crumbling plaster walls and the primitive kitchen, we made the right choice buying this old place.

On top of the mantelpiece I have some of my favorite things—sea urchin-shaped candlesticks from a close friend, a painting by my grandfather, another painting that I was given for my birthday after lusting after it for months… The birthday painting is all greys and whites, a castle in the snow in the woods. The colors would look perfect with the Beauty print, which I would place nearby—on the wall or on the mantel, depending on how a pending picture hook situation resolves itself.

Aside from my daughter, (who by definition is a subject rather than an object, right?) I would say that my display of historical maps is beautiful. Each map is personally significant - Lisbon, where J and I honeymooned; Gent, Belgium, where I was an exchange student long ago; China, which J studies and my mom lived. My maps are arranged vertically in the salon style which brings cohesion to stylistically varied pieces.

Lately I've been in a simplifying mode and very much appreciating the value of history and craftmanship. So I've recommitted myself to repurposing, recycling, donating, freecycling, and selling away unnecessary things. It is so refreshing! Meanwhile, I've been envisioning this simpler decor: sturdy old roots, a sprinkle of new; the bedroom; a vignette of white sentimental items. Beautiful!

the photograph of my mother's side of the family at my grandfather's funeral. my grandmother has a sweet brave smile, my aunt has on a miniskirt and my uncles are young and handsome. and the best thing is that i'm in that picture, too. my mom was pregnant with me so i'm there surrounded by all of that love, even in grief. the beauty of the resilient human spirit.

The most beautiful object I own is a sandblasted blue and turquoise bowl by Goran Warff. It is perfectly simple in shape and color, texture and weightiness.

My apartment, which is in a Brooklyn tenement built in 1910, scores high on function but low on form. Pretty much all of the historical details have been stripped over time: the solid wood doors replaced with hollow ones, the crown molding jettisoned, the tin ceiling scrapped. (I know all this because whoever did the demolition didn't do a great job.) But there's a stained glass window in our bathroom door that gives us a view to the past. It's a rather nondescript pattern but the when light is streaming into the room the colors are vibrant and spread into the hallway, making a rainbow visible when you enter the apartment. The window is cracked in the corner and patched up expertly with duct tape, so it's a reminder not only that someone once did care what our place looked like, but also that since the place was built, other people with clumsy hands like us have lived here as well. Both the colors and the sense of history (not to mention the fact that nothing else about our apartment itself would qualify) make this window beautiful.

we have a sheepskin throw from ikea that single handedly makes our whole couch look warm and inviting. our baby cat, olivia, cannot walk by it without getting sucked into a pushing fit -- where she has to stay and knead it for at least 2 minutes.

i just bought my first place and that is so beautiful!

It's hard to name one item in my home that stands out from the others. I put so much thought into everything I display, from the cream-colored shag rug--which took me months to hunt down for just the right shade, length, and fluffiness--framed by chocolate brown hardwood floors to my Charlie Harper nature prints and handcrafted raku pottery, I can't turn left without eyeing an item that doesn't have a story or wasn't made by the hand of an artist whose eyes I've personally looked into. But if I had to choose just one to share, I would say that my book collection is one of my most beautiful possessions. On its own, one weathered leather or cloth spine is like a cookie without milk; but an entire wall of spines can transform the plainest room into a place of coziness and warmth. There is so much you can do with a collection of books. In my dining alcove i've paired the yellows and reds. In my living room I grouped the blues, blacks and browns. And my bedroom, with tan, cream and ivory blankets and pillows, I have all white spines. Each room has it's own mood. Books pair perfectly with sofas, chairs and beds. They make a great backdrop and fill emptiness like water in a glass. And of course, every book has a story to tell.

A thing of beauty in my home are all my kids school art projects! :) Especially the sculptures from art class :)

The thing I love the best in my place is the little statue of Quan Yin that my BF brought back for me from San Francisco. IA few of the lotus petals broke off on the way home but I love it even more for it's imperfection.

My lush, tranquil garden that surrounds my home is an oxygen-churning organic environmentalist with an awful lot to say about the way the world should be. Yeah, my garden, the pacifist neighbor who pulls the curtains back and chats with me and the baby hummingbirds through the window while I dress in the morning. And stunning, too. Juiciest red and green tomatoes, wearing a fresh basil perfume, sitting demurely among the ivy and lavender, in a mint leaf gown.

By far my bakelite rotary phone. It's original, super heavy, vintage, and still fully functional, as it was intended many years ago. It's beautiful to me because it is an everyday reminder to me to take it slowly, sit back comfortably and enjoy a lovely conversation with a voice on the receiver. Just putting my finger in the rotary dial to make a call reminds me of how beautiful it once was and still is today. It is also a constant reminder to me that I will never have a need for cellular phones, and thumbs up for that.

I have this lovely set of red chairs my Mom picked up at a garage sale for fifty dollars. They have the orginal fabric from the 50's, fabulous rounded backs, with perfectly tucked buttons and this wonderful feel about them. I put them in our bedroom at the foot of the bed and every morning when my husband gets ready for work, he sits there and puts on his shoes. I like to think sometimes about how these chairs were once the outcasts of someone elses life and now how charished they are by me. That is the thing about beauty I guess, it is open to interpretation.