What are these spaces that we decorate, exactly? Myself as a child was always compelled to adorn the walls with half – pictures and ripped magazine pages. Women with classic Ray Ban sun glasses, my families trip to Cuba. I’ve moved to Montreal and it’s the same beast, in a different costume. Now the work space and areas for decoration are separate, categorized. I tend to like sticking stuff to the walls mainly, but in synchronization. There should be balance at play. I wonder how the heavy images on my walls effected me throughout my teenage years; the over stimulation with angry consequence and conclusion. I specifically remember a conversation with my Mom where she entertained the idea with me, one that she had surely thought of before, that maybe the pictures very adding to my anxiety. I’m now sure that this is true, considering the fact that simply scrolling through a newsfeed gives me palpitations; but still I wonder. I wonder where this intrigue came from. I no doubt first saw it on some movie, a teenage girls room covered with pictures of friends and fairy lights. This was the beginning, after it spiralled out of control. I would rummage through Rolling Stones and glimpse signs of possible pleasures, possible other lives that could have been mine, or were yet to be. These “other lives” were pasted over top of family portraits and vacations, birthday parties. They were stand – still movie frames that I aspired to one day be apart of. The cigarette package, a tortured artist, full womanly lips. What were these artifacts of adornment to me? The beast now has been tamed, considerably. Adopting to a minimalist technique, I now have almost nothing on my walls. I ask, for nothing. Perhaps the indulgence of daily movies makes up for the lacking of beautiful women pasted here and there. I no longer need the reminder that beauty exists. This compartment, how contrary to the one I occupied a few years ago; A lifetime ago. Now I find myself to be a collector of other sorts. Music, books, art, plants and tea. Trinkets that can be buried. This is good, this is relief and a sign of maturing. What an interesting thing it is to consider the identity moving itself away from you’re teenage walls and into secret, compartments. Which person should I pull out today? I ask my Mother, what will I be?