I have a lot of art. Like, a lot. Every wall in my 1906 Victorian in Saint Paul has something on it, and most of those somethings have a story. Over the years I've been asked countless times how I mix it all — different mediums, different eras, wildly different subject matter — and my answer is always the same: I don't think about it that much. I hang what I love, where it feels right, and I follow exactly one rule.
60 inches to center. That's it. That's the whole rule.
Everything else — frame style, subject matter, whether it matches anything else in the room, whether it was $8 or $800 — none of that is the rule. The rule is the height. Hang it at eye level, which for most people and most spaces lands right at 60 inches from the floor to the center of the piece. On a gallery wall grouping I'll occasionally go to 62 inches to account for the visual weight of the whole arrangement, but that's the only variation. If something looks off on your wall and you can't figure out why, I promise you it's hung too high.
Now that we've established the one rule, let's talk about why everything else is completely up for grabs.
What You Love Is Enough Of A Reason
This is my living room, and it is a perfect example of absolutely zero rules being followed except the height one. On the far left wall hangs a small, colorful cat painting — genuinely weird, completely specific, gifted to us by my husband's aunt Jayne. It's exactly what that wall needed and I never would have gone looking for it. Center above the sofa is a large-format photograph by Joshua Benmore, an artist whose work I had admired for a long time — this is the only piece I own and it was worth every penny of the professional framing. My husband surprised me with it as a gift when we moved into this house and I love it more every day. On the right wall: a John Vochatzer collage, one of my favorites of his, alongside pieces picked up at various art crawls over the years here in Saint Paul.
Three completely different approaches to acquiring art. Three completely different scales. One room that works because every single piece is something we genuinely love.
That's the formula. It's not more complicated than that.
The Stories Are The Point
On the left wall of my dining room hangs a painting by Suyao Tian. On the right wall, two small stacked portraits — a tiger and a cheetah — in ornate gold frames, vintage, gifted to me by my husband's aunt for my birthday. I hung them about an hour before 35 people arrived for my birthday party. That's the kind of thing that happens when you're not precious about art. You find something, you love it, you put it up — even if guests are arriving in sixty minutes.
The stories behind the pieces are what make a collection feel alive. Nobody wants to live in a showroom.
Neon Counts. Objects Count. Everything Counts.
Speaking of not being precious — that is a neon evil eye I found on Amazon for under $50. I have an evil eye tattoo. I was obsessed with the idea of a neon for that wall and I went looking and found exactly what I wanted for less than fifty dollars. It's plugged in, it glows, it's the first thing people notice when they walk into the dining room and it makes everyone happy.
The bar cart is from Z Gallerie — I put it on my wishlist the moment we moved in and got it as a Christmas present. Both of these things are "wall art" in this room. One is a neon sign from Amazon. Neither of those facts makes them less valid.
Art doesn't have a price minimum. It doesn't have a medium requirement. If it makes your space feel like you, it belongs on the wall.
Mix The Mediums Without Apology
A mixed media collage portrait and a dark abstract resin painting, stacked. Different mediums, different moods, different everything — and they work together completely. This is what mixing mediums actually looks like in practice. You don't need a cohesive series. You don't need pieces from the same artist or the same era. You need pieces that mean something to you, hung at the right height, given enough breathing room to be seen.
Gallery Walls: Collected Over Time, Not Purchased As A Set
This wall took years. The medical illustrations — skulls, hand and feet studies, a memento mori — came from Amsterdam. The butterfly specimens are a mix of eBay finds, purchases from Paxton Gate in San Francisco, gifts, and vintage store discoveries collected over the last twenty years. The skull and snake collage was made by my friend John Vochatzer, who now owns a gallery in San Francisco and is one of my favorite artists working today. John and I went to art school together — we spent a lot of time talking about Hieronymus Bosch, who remains both of our all-time favorite artists — and I am so glad I have this piece.
This is what a real gallery wall looks like. It's not a set you order from one place and hang in an afternoon. It's a living, growing collection that reflects everywhere you've been and everything you've loved. Some of these pieces I've had for two decades. Some I found last year. The wall keeps changing and that's exactly the point.
A gallery wall should feel like it was collected, not curated. There's a difference.
Hang Your Own Work
That painting above my bed? I painted it. I've painted over that canvas five times now — it has lived in every home I've been in and changed completely each time. The canvas itself came from Goodwill for $15. This version is my favorite so far, and I genuinely don't know what I'll do with it next.
I am a formally trained fine artist and I still think hanging your own work is one of the most personal things you can do in your home. It doesn't matter what level you're at. If you make things — paintings, drawings, collages, photographs — they belong on your walls. Treat your own work with the same respect you'd give anything else you love.
Photography Is Fine Art. Treat It That Way.
The two prints above the console are photography by the same artist, purchased at the Lowertown Art Crawl — some of the first art we bought after moving to Saint Paul. The smaller framed photograph below them was taken by my husband on our honeymoon in Mostar, Bosnia.
Three photographs. Two different photographers. One personal, one collected. Same wall, same framing approach, completely unified. Photography gets underestimated as wall art and it shouldn't. A great photograph is as powerful as any painting. Frame it properly, hang it at the right height, and let it do its job.
Give The Photographer In Your Life A Wall
This is my husband's office, and these are his photographs. Both are close-up studies of walls — textural, dark, abstract and completely beautiful. I loved the larger one so much I had it properly framed. He deserved to have his own work on his own walls, and this room is his.
The same rule applies to whoever in your life is making things. Frame it. Hang it. Treat it like art — because it is.
Your Kids' Art Belongs On The Wall Too
That hyperrealistic Capri Sun watercolor? My son picked that out himself at the Saint Paul Art Crawl, which we go to every year. The camel painting and the clover drawing are his. All three are framed, hung on the wall, treated exactly like everything else in this house — because that's exactly what they are.
And here — a framed Golden Gate Bridge pastel picked up at an estate sale and gifted by my husband's aunt, hanging above a drawing my son did when he was very little that I love so much I framed it and put it on the wall. A tiny crayon figure with Mario floating next to him, in a proper black frame, hung at the right height.
My son now picks out his own art at the Saint Paul Fall Art Crawl every year. I could not be more proud of that.
Frame their work. Hang it properly. It will mean more to both of you than you can imagine.
A Single Strong Piece Needs Nothing Else
Sometimes one piece is enough. This painting was made by my husband's uncle — a portrait of my husband as a child, given to him as a birthday gift this year. The colors are incredible. The frame is incredible. It hangs alone above the radiator with a shibori curtain beside it and it doesn't need a single thing next to it.
Not every wall needs a gallery. Sometimes the most confident move is to hang one thing and walk away.
The Kitchen Wall That Keeps Growing
That instrument on the left is a barometer — I found it at a Goodwill in San Francisco when we lived three doors down from one and went thrifting multiple times a week. I got a lot of good things from that Goodwill. Including two authentic Chanel purses, but that's a different story.
The skull woodblock collage was purchased at Gamut Gallery as a Christmas gift for my husband. The postcard next to it is from John Vochatzer — an image of his Bosch-style collages, which are both of our all-time favorite works. The other pieces came from the Saint Paul Art Crawl, the Lowertown Art Crawl, and Mother, one of my favorite shops.
This wall is never finished. I keep adding to it. That's how it should be.
The Art That Was Already Here
When we moved into this house, someone left a box for us. Inside were two photographs — both of this house, taken years apart. The top photo we're not sure of the date. The bottom was taken in 2012. We framed them both and hung them in the house they're photographs of, next to a vintage candle sconce from Missouri Mouse and a woman-form candle from Mother.
There is no better provenance than that. Art that came with the house, hung in the house. That's the whole point of collecting — things that are specific to your life, your place, your story.
A Note On Storage
I want to be clear that what you see here is not even everything. I have an entire basement situation — pieces waiting for the right wall, things I've collected and haven't found a home for yet, art I rotate in and out. A collection is never finished. That's what makes it a collection and not just decoration.
The One Rule, One More Time
60 inches to center. Measure from the floor to where the center of the piece will land. On a grouping, treat the whole arrangement as one piece and aim for 60 to 62 inches to the visual center of the group.
That's it. Everything else — what you hang, where you find it, how much you spend, whether it matches, whether anyone else would understand it — none of that is the rule. The rule is the height.
Hang what you love. The rest will figure itself out.
