Aesthete Cognizance

Taste is often treated as something personal and natural, as if it appears fully formed. We talk about it casually:  I just like it ,  it speaks to me ,  it feels right . But taste is never neutral. It is built slowly, shaped by what we are exposed to, the cultural spaces we move through, and the choices we make repeatedly. In collecting, taste becomes visible. It leaves a trail. What we collect is not only a reflection of what we admire. It is also a declaration of what we choose to support, protect, and stand behind. Over time, these decisions accumulate. They form a point of view. A collection, whether modest or extensive, becomes a record of attention and belief. The sociologist Pierre Bourdieu was one of the first to clearly articulate that taste is social before it is individual. In  Distinction  (1979), he argued that taste is shaped by education, class, and access, and that what is labelled “good taste” often mirrors the preferences of those in power. In...

Books alter a room before they are ever opened. Their presence shifts the atmosphere in ways that are difficult to quantify but easy to sense. A room with books feels quieter without being empty, fuller without feeling crowded. Something slows down. This change has little to do with colour or material. It has more to do with implication. Books suggest time, attention, and inwardness. They introduce a different pace into a space, one that resists urgency. Books as Signals of Pause A room without books often feels transitional. It suggests movement through rather than staying with. Books interrupt this momentum. Even closed, they imply the possibility of stopping. Of sitting. Of lingering long enough to follow a thought to its end. This implication alone alters how people behave in the space. Chairs feel more intentional near books. Light becomes more critical. The room subtly reorganises around the idea of pause. Why Books Create Psychological Warmth Warmth in interiors is usually attri...

Ayanda Mabulu occupies a singular and contentious position within South African contemporary art. Frequently reduced in public discourse to controversy, outrage, and sensational imagery, Mabulu’s work is more productively understood as a sustained interrogation of power, representation, and historical amnesia in post-apartheid South Africa. His paintings refuse reconciliation without accountability and challenge the aesthetic norms that have traditionally governed political art in the democratic era. Working primarily through figurative painting, Mabulu mobilises provocation not as spectacle, but as a deliberate ethical strategy — one that exposes the unresolved violence embedded in South Africa’s political, economic, and cultural structures. This essay argues that Mabulu’s practice should be read not as transgressive for its own sake, but as a form of visual resistance that positions painting as a site of confrontation. His work insists that the transition to democracy did not dissolv...

Collected eclectic is often misunderstood as a look. It is described in images, pinned to boards, and reduced to visual cues: layered rugs, mixed eras, shelves filled with objects. But in its most valid form, collected eclectic is not an aesthetic formula. It is the result of time, accumulation, and lived decision-making. Unlike styles that can be purchased in a single afternoon, eclectic emerges slowly. It is built through use, attachment, and revision. This is what gives it depth. The space does not declare itself immediately. Instead, it reveals itself through attention. Beyond Decoration: A Process, Not a Palette Many design styles begin with a colour scheme or material selection. Collected eclectics begins with objects already present. It asks what exists, why it remains, and what it means. This approach shifts the role of design from selection to curation. Items are not chosen to match, but to belong. Belonging is determined by memory, usefulness, and emotional resonance rather t...

There is something deeply comforting about a shelf that is full. Not styled, not spaced out, not curated to breathe just full. Books pressed together, objects leaning slightly, things stacked because that is where they belong. Overfilled shelves rarely try to impress, yet they often make a space feel more alive than any perfectly arranged display ever could. We are often told to leave negative space, to let shelves “rest.” But shelves were never meant to rest. They were meant to hold. When shelves are allowed to do their job thoroughly, they bring a kind of quiet reassurance to a room, a feeling that life is happening here and has been for a while. This power is subtle. It does not announce itself. You usually only notice it when it is missing. Why Full Shelves Feel So Familiar Most of us grew up around full shelves. Family homes, libraries, classrooms, and studies were rarely sparse. They were places where things accumulated slowly and naturally. Full shelves signal continuity. They s...

Most people are taught to think of their homes as projects. There is a beginning, a middle, and an imagined endpoint where everything is finished, aligned, and resolved. This mindset frames the space as something external, an object to be improved, corrected, or completed. Psychologically, this creates distance. When a home is treated as a project, it becomes something you work on rather than something you exist within. Seeing your space as a reflection changes this relationship entirely. A reflection does not need to be perfected to be accurate. It simply shows what is already there. When a home is understood this way, its value shifts from performance to honesty. Why the “Project Mindset” Creates Subtle Stress From a psychological perspective, projects demand progress. They carry timelines, benchmarks, and implicit judgments about success or failure. When this framework is applied to a living space, the environment becomes a constant reminder of what is unfinished. This can create lo...