The other morning, I heard a little piece on WNYC about clutter.
It reminded me of a friend of my father who we visited in Tel Aviv many, many years ago. He was a local celebrity of some sort.
What struck me most was the organized clutter in his apartment. The highlight of which were end tables constructed of piles of books. Despite it all, there was a sense of comfort and ease.
As I glance around me, I wonder whether “clutter” is getting a bad rap.