Most modern architecture is minimalist
Architectural Roots in Minimalism
When I graduated with a degree in architecture in Ecuador, I was a minimalist through and through. Taught by modernist professors, I was trained to value neutral palettes, subtle elegance, and restraint in design. I loved florals — which my teachers would have frowned on — but I always chose subdued tones, the kind that whispered rather than shouted. Anything more felt tacky.
One of my teachers once said, “There’s no good taste and bad taste — there’s only taste, and the lack of it.”
Our First Home and the Scarcity Mindset
It’s hard to create harmony in tiny spaces
In 1994, I married my husband, and in 1995 I joined him on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. We lived in a tiny furnished apartment — just a bed, a sofa, and a coffee table. That setup had worked for my husband when he lived alone, but it wasn’t nearly enough for life as a couple. I had two thousand dollars to spend — and then I discovered Walmart.
The prices amazed me. I was still carrying the mindset of scarcity from growing up in a developing country. My parents were wealthy, but I didn’t feel the benefits of that wealth. Other than the uniform for my very expensive and exclusive school, I hardly had any clothes. So when it came time to furnish that first apartment I shared with my husband, I opted for the cheapest things: a folding card table, plastic organizers, and anything that would “do” for the moment.
Making a House Beautiful on a Budget
When we bought our first home two years later, most of those items ended up in the storage shed. They were good for organizing tools and working on crafts. They didn’t belong in what I saw as a real home. With money tight after we put all our savings into the down payment, I scouted thrift stores, accepted hand-me-downs, and spent weekends trying to make the house beautiful. I sewed tablecloths, slipcovers, and reupholstered old chairs. Slowly, the home began to look the way I had imagined.
People loved it. Friends often commented on how peaceful it felt. One guest sat down at our dining table, took a deep breath, and said, “I didn’t realize how stressed I was until just now, when all the stress left me.”
A Home That Looked Right — But Didn’t Feel Good to Me
Sometimes we need more than elegance
But here’s the twist: I didn’t feel the same way.
As I stood in this home I had labored over for years — minimalist, elegant, praised by everyone — I felt something was missing. It was beautiful, but it didn’t feel alive to me. It didn’t feed my soul.
Discovering Feng Shui and Making It My Own
That realization came hand-in-hand with my discovery of Feng Shui. I wanted to apply it to my home, but the so-called “cures” — red tassels, golden frogs, fake coins — clashed with my décor. So I started painting my own Feng Shui art, embedding the energy of the cures into meaningful, personal images. And it worked.
Starting Over — and Learning the Hard Way
When we later moved to Iowa, we took only a few quality pieces — our oak bedroom set, my office desk — and had to start over again. As soon as we moved, I felt it was a mistake to have left so many things behind. Everything was more expensive in the new state. The exact same trash can that I had bought at the Biloxi Walmart for $4, was $16 in the Davenport Walmart. We needed just about everything, and we needed it fast. So I made another mistake — I bought cheap furniture. When I say cheap, I don’t mean just the price.
When we moved again five years later, most of it didn’t survive. Bookshelves warped. Desks cracked. I realized I had wasted not only money, but time and energy on things I didn’t truly care about.
A New Rule: Only Buy What You’d Move With
Timeless pieces don’t have to be expensive!
That’s when I made myself a promise: from now on, I would only buy what I’d be willing to move with me again.
I began curating our home with intention. Salvage stores, antique markets, and reclaimed furniture became my go-to sources. I worked within limitations — fewer choices, tighter budgets — and created spaces around standout pieces like heirloom rugs or salvaged chandeliers. I was still buying things for cheap — but the things themselves were not cheap!
What True Design Really Means
Only do minimalism if that is what you truly love!
What emerged wasn’t minimalist. It was layered, warm, and deeply personal. I had to let go of the design dogmas I had been taught and listen to my own inner voice — and to my family’s needs and wants, too.
Over time, I realized that true design isn’t about following an aesthetic ideal. It’s about creating a home that supports your life, reflects your values, and welcomes your soul. Minimalism had given me discipline, but it was intuition, Feng Shui, and real-life trial and error that finally gave me joy.
Want to start learning Feng Shui? Take the class Feng Shui Explained.
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