The power of beauty

A true story
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In 2010, after an epic year-long trip from the southernmost tip of the continent, in a twist of fate, I landed in Montana. I reconnected with, and came to visit an old flame, who rather quickly became my husband. So technically…I’m still traveling. 
Yes, I’m the eternal tourist, haha.
​Some of you might even remember those days, if you were my Facebook friends back then, or simply my friends.

​I walked into his home and asked him, “Did you just move here?” The walls were bare. Completely empty.

It turned out he and his previous wife had divorced; she took everything but pretty much the chair he had been sitting on. That was 4 years before.

Part of the reason I began creating art—this round of my life—was so we could have something on the walls. And for years, the one thing that always came out of his mouth was:

“I hate this house. I never wanted to buy it in the first place, and somehow in the divorce I ended up buying her half too.”

I would reply – it’s not that bad (To be fair, it was big, it was comfortable…but not exactly pretty). “It has no character” he would say. “Just a builder grade, cookie cutter home”.
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"Tandem, Ivette Kjelsrud 2014"

​From creating art so we could decorate the walls, it somehow turned into a career, because other people began wanting to buy my paintings. Time and money were not abundant, so the house took the back seat, but I continued adding little touches—here, and there—over the years, slowly replacing what was broken.

And then, in 2020, I finally made time to treat our house as one of my art projects. I began an ambitious transformation endeavor that pretty much ended sometime this year. I did it all by hand (except for the flooring, siding and carpet: Matt replaced the downstairs floor himself in 2016, we had the siding replaced in 2017 thanks to weather, and the upstairs carpet and bathroom floors in 2020 or 2021, I can’t remember). oh, and I made him change most of the light fixtures :D

Around the same time, I decided to add interior design to my offerings—not thinking much of how it was going to happen, in my mind a room was just a bigger canvas. Apparently, that’s not quite how it works once you involve clients in your creative expression. I studied interior design in 2020–2021 to make it official…and even received an Award of Merit from the New York institute of Art + Design - for Excellence in Interior Design.

Whether it was the award or the lighting module that did it, I don’t know. Because the moment I asked my husband Matt (the electrical contractor) about some lighting questions, he burst into flames:

“They don’t know what they’re talking about. They don’t know what they’re saying. This is crap. How much did you pay for this? I hate interior designers!”

Years of him working with difficult ones had rubbed off. And without even having a chance, my interior design career was cut off before it ever began. Nipped in the bud.

Since I was now an “official,” interior designer, I used it as an excuse to do what I do best: travel.

I started going to design markets around the country, mostly to meet up with my new designer friends, and to be surrounded by beauty. I didn’t have clients who needed that level of service—but I needed it.

When I went to my first Las Vegas Design market, it hit me:
Who’s ever going to hire me?
I have no high-end photos.
My home is beautiful but not “luxury.”
No marble counters, no $10,000 and up sofas.

Just heart, love, creativity, some dog fur, and my artistic touch.
And since I didn’t even have “before” photos of our home, the imposter syndrome kicked in deeper.
Then came the 3D courses.
Then AI.
A whole attempt to manufacture images so I had “proof” of my visual skills.​

​This isn’t the point of the story—but it is the truth. Somewhere along the way, I stopped trusting myself…even though I could make a room beautiful since the day I was born, even if only by my presence.
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​Now—back to the house.
Among the renovations I did was his bathroom. I had a vision: cream and black. I painted one wall black. I meticulously chose three black-and-white photos from Etsy that I knew he’d love—a golf master, Dallas Cowboy football hall of famer, a vintage car. I framed them. Updated the curtains to match. (Had him) Change the mirrors, change the lighting. The floor was done by professionals.
Not high-end.
But stunning.

His first reaction?
“I hate the black wall.”
This man, who hadn’t touched a wall in decades, wanted me to repaint it before I could even hang the art.
I nearly broke.
I did. For a little bit.

But then told him:
“Give it a few days. If you still hate it, I’ll repaint.”
Then I hung the photos.
And the room transformed.

I never took proper photos when it was finished because I didn’t think they were “good enough” to share. But the transformation—my God.

Fast forward to last week.
I walked into his bathroom and saw he’d taken down the framed photos.

“Why’d you take them down?”
“I got tired of looking at the same stuff. it’s not that they’re even art, they’re just some photos.”
I said, “These were handpicked for you with a lot of care and intention behind every choice.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but I need change. I can’t always be looking at the same thing.”
And I thought:
Oh great…now he wants art rotation.
Must be nice having your own private artist.

But then it hit me.
This man who once lived in an empty room with bare walls, who hated this house, who mocked interior designers…now expects rotating art like a fine art connoisseur.
Divine comedy at its best.

That is the power of beauty.
To penetrate the hardest of shells
and touch the softest of hearts.

Yesterday, I saw his empty wall again and thought:
I should make him a new painting, and started concocting ideas.

Later that afternoon we were in the dining room and he said, “I’m moving to my living room.”
I asked, “Your living room? Did you decorate it?”
Then I remembered: I should make him a painting.

And then he said:
“That reminds me. I need a new painting for my bathroom.”
I yelled, “Stop stealing my thoughts!”
And also, “What do you think—that my art is free?”

Then I walked away with the biggest grin, feeling warm and fuzzy all inside.

Never have I felt so seen, so valued, so cherished--
even without the pretty words.

And just like that, the imposter syndrome melted away.

Never before have I realized
how truly important my work really is.
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