Entry way, Katsura Imperial Palace, Kyoto, Japan

Sometimes artists work too hard to find a “style.” We look at the work of others and say, gee, I like that. I want to paint like that. I want to make jewelry like hers. But chances are the artist who created the work we admire found her or his style within, not without.

A case in point: A friend gave me a book about country style in Japan, featuring old, traditional thatched roof homes that have been converted by architects for modern living. I love the wood beams, the clarity and simplicity of the rooms, the usefulness of the things that are there, the light that has been let in. (Old-style thatched houses were very dark.) Even when the rooms contain elements that are not traditionally Japanese, the element of simplicity holds it together.

As I went through the book, I kept asking myself, why do I love this? What is appealing to me? How can I make my space more like this without trying to recreate Japan? Then I looked up from my book to my living room—and I had to laugh. I had already done it. Wood, light, simplicity of color and form, things I loved and used and nothing else. I didn’t have to work so hard to find my “style.” It had already found me.

Jewelry artist Lexi Erickson told me she once made jewelry influenced by the hard, geometric, polished surfaces of a large South American city where she was living. When she stood back and looked at the work, she hated it. She found her style, her true voice, in the land she loves—the cliffs, crags, textures, soil, light and space of the southwest–and in her work as an archeologist. For Erickson, touching the soil, touching the rocks and shards, touching the land, and feeling its form and history has created her style. Texture—tactile and visual—as well as the stories she tells story, that keeps her involved, inspired, and loving her work.

I guess you could say style begins at home, in the heart. It begins with the things, the places we love to touch, see, hear, smell, taste. What do you love?