I’m guilty of it. Most people are, if they’re honest with themselves: the secret vice of buying something you don’t actually like very much because it looks impressive. Uncomfortable shoes, jugs and teapots that don’t pour properly, cups without handles for hot drinks, certain styles of seating; and quite a lot of contemporary art falls into this category.
In the past, even the smallest houses had “the good room”, where you could put all the stuff you didn’t really like, but which you thought made you look superior, and could subject guests to it when they came to call. The difference between the drawing room and den clearly shows the divide between the things we think we ought to like and the stuff that makes us feel at home.
These days, rooms are more democratic, and you’re just as likely to have dinner guests in the kitchen; or, if you were victimised by both boom and recession, not have the luxury of separate spaces at all.
This leaves the problem of where to put the things you really love that don’t quite fit in with your projection of style. The answer is: the bedroom. Unless you’re in the habit of frequently entertaining strangers up there, it’s the one room guaranteed to be seen only by people you love and trust.
The Germans have a word for it: Schlafzimmerbilder literally means "bedroom pictures"; the romantic, dreamy, tacky, kitsch or otherwise adorable images that you most want to sleep with and wake up to: prints of Klimt's The Kiss (above), floral etchings, that sort of thing.
In my bedroom I have a pen and ink of a basket of kittens by Peter Nuttall. I don’t like cats very much, but I love how peaceful it is, and it speaks to a gentler side than the one I tend to present to the world.
Another is a photograph by Elaine Byrne, bought from the Kevin Kavanagh Gallery (kevinkavanaghgallery.ie). It’s an image of a lit chandelier in a window, taken either as dusk falls or dawn rises – either a celebration to come, or the last hurrah of one just had. It isn’t tacky, and I’m certainly not ashamed of it. It’s a different kind of secret, one that’s so lovely you just want to keep it to yourself.
