I accepted long ago that I’m not terribly…style-conscious. Generally speaking, I wear clothes that fit and are at least vaguely flattering. I require a low-maintenance hairstyle. My best makeup is five years old. And I was well into my 20s before I set foot in a nail salon.

I do have a thing for shoes. Odd shoes. Colorful shoes. Shoes that, if I’m lucky, match up to half a dozen things in my closet.

Looking forward and occasionally glancing back, I realize now that I just never had –or never took — the chance to figure out my own style, fashion or otherwise. Thinking about my latest obsession with art, I’ve realized that my home is taking on the ideal look of my wardrobe…and my life.

Deep colors on most of the walls are comfortable, earthy, and warm. I’m an “autumn” in makeup-speak, having light brown hair and brown eyes. I wear a lot of black and brown, a lot of green and purple and rust and beige.

I hate wearing white. Off-white, oyster, eggshell — these are all fine. I just hate the complete absence of color…almost as much as I hate Rental Beige.

I like colors and furniture and a lifestyle you can fall into comfortably. I like places and people and things that can get a little dirty, and little rumpled.

The art I’ve chosen shows what little wild side I have, I think. They’re pulses of vibrant color that don’t work for me on a grander scale. The fuschia that dominates the painting I got at Eastern Market? I have a blazer that color. A nice, soft, cashmere-blend blazer that I’ve worn maybe six times, because, as much as I love the color, it just does not work for me in bulk.

The loafers in raspberry, though? Cannot wear them enough.

I don’t always have an eye for placement. I have a silver sconce that I thought should be on a brown wall by the door…it seemed like a good idea. The longer I look at it, the more I realize it belongs on the wall between the windows and the sliding-glass door, the skinny wall painted in a deep cabernet.

Characteristically, I didn’t wait to be sure before I drove a nail into the brown wall to try to make it fit the place that seemed like a good idea at the time. Fortunately — for my living room and my life — there’s the chance to put right what went wrong.

Thank god for spackle and perspective.