Doorways of Norway
If you follow Forage & Folk on Instagram, you may already know that I recently boarded a very, very big boat, journeyed across the North Sea, and spent an incredible week soaking up the sights, sounds and smells of the Norwegian Fjords. I frolicked with Fjord horses, witnessed crashing waterfalls carving their way through the mountainside, and was treated to a folky singsong in a church by, I am convinced, the world's smallest self professed "viking" who was, in fact, a teacher from Trondheim. What a place, dear reader. What a place.
All ideas of fashion in the Fjords went quickly out of the window and swiftly overboard, for I was treated to some real Norwegian rain that narrowed my wardrobe choice right down to the waterproof I had brought with me at my husband's insistence, without any real intention of wearing it. It was, I maintain to my beloved, the one and only time in my life that I have ever been wrong.
Despite the deluge, there was no dampening the charm of the historic wooden houses and rustic cobbled streets of Stavanger Old Town. Incredibly, most of these homes remain perfectly preserved after originally being built in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and offer somewhat of a window into what life in Norway may have looked like in the 1700s and 1800s.
Most striking, perhaps, was the very simple way in which the inhabitants had allowed their personalities and tastes to shine out from their homes, without compromising the uniform character of these old timber structures.
Each doorway, so different from the next, an outward declaration of the tastes of the individuals dwelling within. So many different choices made; from the colour of the paint, to the lighting, to the shrubs and greenery framing the threshold.
The windows, too, offered a peep at collected pottery and art, much of which carried an air of being hand thrown and with it, the relatable loveliness of something created from the heart of another.
Whilst I wasn't quite brazen enough to press my face to the glass and peer directly into these homes (read: I tried, but was quickly reminded by my darling husband that this was not, strictly speaking, a normal thing to do and was gently (ha!) encouraged to step away) I could see enough from a polite distance to report that there was a tangible feeling of taste in the treasure; whilst we, as observers, were offered a glimpse of these private collections from the outside, their real purpose was very much for the enjoyment of those on the other side of the glass.
Perhaps this is why these charming homes captured my imagination in the visceral way that they did; there was an attention to detail, not intended to cater to a critiquing eye (boo to those!) but to afford every possible kind of comfort to the people who live there. Objects were arranged purely with the delight of an individual in mind. Colours, shapes and textures were selected not for their complimentary qualities but because they felt good to the person who chose them.
As someone often paralysed by indecision, this heart-led way of designing a comfortable home felt like a revelation. It was like walking through a living, breathing mood board where you couldn't knock on the door and ask for links (not least, because I do not speak Norwegian), just observe and be inspired.
Thank you Stavanger. These are my musings inspired by your doorways of Norway.
Ha det fint.
Love,
Lizzee x