I’ve always wanted to live in a murky, slightly creepy Scooby Doo mansion. Trap doors, peepholes in the oil pantings, spooky fire places, library book cases that turn into doors and reveal hidden rooms. You know, something like this:
Problem is, I live in a 450 square foot apartment in NYC. So I had to get creative. I figured if I couldn’t have a full on, cobweb strewn, ghost festooned Scoob-stead, I’d have a Scooby Doo library nook. First thing I did was set up my book case to create a second room in my living room:I added a fireplace, a faux-bear rug, skulls galore, candles and some vintage chairs.
The unintended consequence is the way people view this nook when they see it for the first time. It tends to reflect what they cherish most in their lives. For me, it is the library that I can’t have right now. It’s the library in my mind’s eye. But one friend asked if it is my prayer space. Another friend’s father immediately assumed it is where I go when I need to be alone. Someone else asked if it is my “idea factory”. And I suppose it is all of those things too. Living in a small apartment, you need to have multiple uses for your space: the couch becomes the guest room, the coffee table is your dining area. Why should my Scooby Doo library nook be any different?