It depends upon where your head is. The way you lean. The kind of statement you want to make. Sometimes more is more.
Years ago I read a book about Busby Berkley. Think about the Rockettes and their line of kicking legs, or those old swimming movies where the camera was above and girls did the Rockette thing while floating, kicking to the right all together and then to the left. The entire composition looks like the shutter of an old camera opening and closing. He directed that stuff. My book is long gone, but his idea in these movies was that a simple kick could be made very grand if repeated by many. And in his work, that movement was done until the audience collapsed into applause.
My world lives to be organized, to accommodate what I have, and make a bigger impact with it. Just like Buzby Berkley. Sometimes the palette is one window as above, or sometimes you have to think like google earth and draw way back and see our whole acreage. That is for appreciating all the old lawn furniture.
The acuba in the above garden started out at five, evenly spaced within about twenty by two feet. Now they are over a hundred, issuing their spikiness everywhere and making quite a statement at the pool where one usually dresses in a vulnerable manner.
It is all about pattern. Pattern makes a world, no matter how clogged, understandable.
Many aluminum tumblers and pitchers are spaced around this accommodating kitchen fireplace.
The fireplace, designed to recede in size into a tray ceiling, has a kind of aluminum tumbler “crown” in the upper recesses. That crown is broken up by a simple “mola” (the framed piece) from the San Blas Islands. But across the kitchen is a finer one:
A “mola” is a textile made in the manner of reverse applique. Many layers of colored fabrics come together like a sandwich. The craftsperson cuts a slit into the top layer, and bends each side of that slit back to reveal a new color. The slit is stitched permanently back so the new color doesn’t have to fight for existence. And so on. Each color here reveals different layers of the colored fabric package. Crazy obsessive like many textile techniques are.
Years ago I had the opportunity to view molas stored away in the depths of a German textile museum in Dusseldorf. This mola, bought by me for $3.75 is every bit as good as the museum’s nicest pieces. Some day I’ll get to that story.
The organizing idea here (pun intended): put similar things in the same place.