A Classic Kiwi Bach

There's something about stepping into a holiday house that always makes me slow down. The moment I walk through the door, I feel the everyday rush fade away and a simpler way of life take over. My family and I recently spent a few days at a classic Kiwi bach, and it had that calming effect from the minute we arrived.

It wasn’t a new place by any means, but it was full of character. The bach had clearly been the backdrop for many family memories over the years. Creaky floorboards and a couple of worn spots in the carpet told stories of all the footsteps and gatherings that came before us. Even the odd cupboard door that didn’t close quite right made me smile.

Those little quirks only added to its charm. Nothing was so delicate that we had to tiptoe around and that was freeing in itself. It was a good, no-frills family bach where everything had a purpose but nothing felt too precious. It was a place made to be used, enjoyed, and truly lived in. The kids were the first to break the quiet, racing through the house as if they'd just unlocked a new adventure. They darted from room to room eager to claim their sleeping spots.

It was one of those houses where you could sense the history in every corner. The woodwork had a warm, lived-in glow, and the retro kitchen looked like it had fuelled countless family dinners and afternoon teas (with no doubt a few spills along the way). I loved how real it felt; nothing was polished or fancy, just a space that had been well-loved over time.

As we settled in, it didn’t take long for the bach to feel like home. The rooms were cosy, filled with mismatched furniture and walls bearing the scuffs of years gone by. We found old board games and dog-eared books on the shelves, and a small fireplace ready to warm us if the night turned chilly. It was the kind of place where you kick off your shoes, drape a blanket over your knees, and just sink into the moment. There was no need for anything special or fancy; simply being there was enough.

In that ease and simplicity, I found a gentle reminder. A home (or even a piece of art) doesn’t have to be perfect to feel meaningful. In fact, sometimes the most unassuming, imperfect things bring the greatest sense of comfort. Being together in that well-worn bach, I felt the same kind of calm I try to infuse into my artwork. Just like that humble holiday house, art made with honesty and heart can make a space feel more settled and at ease. Our little getaway reinforced what I’ve long believed: beauty lives in the simple, heartfelt details of everyday life.

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