On Saying Goodbye: Pt II
The home I left behind
All photos below by Olivia Alonso Gough
It’s hard to say goodbye to something good, something grand even. I spent three years investing myself and my money into a space that grew to be what I would call my first home. Previously I had lived in a tiny art-deco studio in Los Feliz from 2018-2020, but it felt like a stepping stone to the house I made in Harvard Heights. I always knew I’d find something special, and this house delivered.
It had a yard, parking, laundry in the back, a garden area (which I did nothing to help with), and one shared wall. I had a separate entrance with a wide staircase up up up, and after turning the corner you were flooded with sunlight. My living room was a makeshift sauna during the summers, but it was all worth it. I would lay on my couch and stare at the world outside, watching the light change as it shifted across the room. Watching it kiss the plants, one by one, a treat they thoroughly enjoyed as evidenced by their immense growth. The living room was narrow, but it was open to a dining area and had as many windows as my heart desired.
The kitchen was narrow, but featured plenty of storage space and a glass-paneled cabinet to display the pottery I collected. Over the last year I inherited some vintage bowls my Dad had been holding on to, and that felt special to add. Every single item in my home was brought in with intention. Hours of thrifting, scouring facebook marketplace, and gifted items from loved ones. I recognize that the meaning of a home is different from person to person, but mine is heavily based on stories and beauty. If I don’t feel good looking at it, it doesn’t have a story to tell, or it doesn’t serve a functional purpose, why bring it into my space? Other people place such value into different activities, but making my house feel like a home, on my own terms, was my hobby. It gave me purpose when I felt like I lacked one.
My style is not for everyone—how could it be? That would be boring. We’d never see variety, never get a sense for who a person is or what they value. I also find immense joy in visiting and looking at other people’s homes to see what they have to say. I used to be ashamed of my intense passion for objects because it fell under the stereotype of being materialistic, a highly negative association. Now I couldn’t give a shit—styling my home brings me joy. Finding an object I’ve been coveting brings me joy. This world is so dark and cruel on its own, if I can’t find a 1970’s touch lamp and get excited, why the fuck am I alive? Don’t answer that—I don’t want to know.
So to supplement my love for my home, I hired a photographer to shoot it in its final stages. It was not where I wanted it to be, and I still had so many ideas for what I wanted to accomplish. But it represents a magical time in my life that I wanted to capture, a time where I was proud of how far I’d come and how beautiful a space I’d created. Even if only to me, especially for me—I loved my home. And I hope I get to start building the next one very soon. Until then, I look at these photos fondly and hope you enjoy seeing them too. PS—do the thing you’re scared to do. In my case, it was look a fool while posing in my home, as if I was some hot shot. But I’m really, really glad I did.
El fÃn
I feel like I’m reading an arch digest article! Love this!
so much inspiration here! beautiful. hope this finds you doing well old friend <3