I was reading the Wall Street Journal today (note- this was a few weeks ago by now), and they were talking about a ‘new’ trend.  Interior designers are choosing art that’s been created (or curated) for the home or a specific room.   Which got me to thinking about my mom.

First, I should tell you a little bit about her.  She was a quick wit, but unable to tell a joke to save her life.  She loved music, but couldn’t hold a note- unless it was the wrong one. My mom went to Brooklyn College for two years.  But, she left because the demands interfered with her real day job.  Back before there was a Pentagon, my mom was the senior (civilian) clerk managing the personnel records of the First Army, on Governor’s Island (New York City).   She lost that job both because the Pentagon was born- and, as my son saw during his days at the University of Michigan- the first IBM computer was purchased by the Army to replace the women.

After getting married, my mom didn’t work for a while.  It wasn’t until 1955 that she learned how to drive. And, from that moment on, my mom fearlessly gobbled up opportunities.  Her first two gigs had a special touch.  She sold accordions (yes, accordions), which meant I was to learn how to play the accordion.   And, then she sold World Book Encyclopedias for Field Enterprises.   Many encyclopedia- so many that she was able to get me the present I wanted when I was not quite 8.  My own set of World Books.  (Yes, I read all 20 volumes.  Which was kind of required, since the standard answer to my questions growing up was “look it up”- even before I had an encyclopedia.  And, Google wasn’t to be born for nearly 4 decades.)

But, then, my mom had her ‘sea legs’ back.  (You do realize that you had to travel to Governor’s Island by boat from Brooklyn.)  Which meant she would soon be managing a large temporary employment agency (which provided her slews of side-splitting stories), a custom wallpaper factory, and a regional bank.  She did a stint as an interior designer.  She was even hired by  Jean  Nidetch  to  be  one

of the very first Weight Watcher’s lecturers (other than Ms. Nidetch).  [My mom got that job because she met Ms. Nidetch as she went to lose 20 pounds for a big event.  Ms. Nidetch recognized my mom’s gift of gab and her great looks.]

Neither my mom nor dad were great parents.  (Now there’s the understatement of the decade.)  But, it turns out they could be pretty good grandparents.  Neither my brother nor I know if that was due to aging, the realization of what disasters they were as parents, or the fact that grandparents aren’t always around grandchildren and that time off was critical.

But, I digress.

As my father was dying (of lymphoma, Kaposi’s sarcoma, and leukemia) in a Lake Worth hospital, the next room was occupied by a woman dying of cancer.  And, over those 85 days, my mom and Lou Kaplan (the dying woman’s husband) became friends.  Fast friends, since my dad and Lou’s wife died within a day of one another.

Lou and my mom married shortly thereafter.  My mom got the husband she wanted (rich, adoring, willing to travel) and they bought a house together.  And, my mom decided she was going to decorate it her way, herself.

To say the house was designer-level is an understatement.  Her house and its interior was featured in literally dozens of magazines.   And, the art was commissioned for her purposes.   As were the rugs, the sofas, the mirrors, the interior paintings, the furnishings.

So, no, Christina Poletto, choosing art specifically for a room or the home is not new.  My mom did all that 33 years ago.