Retro-Fit
by Joanne O’Sullivan
photos by Steve Mann
This is the kind of home real estate agents euphemistically refer to as “cozy” and “rustic.” Aside from the bathroom, there are just four small rooms. There’s little insulation, and winters can be cold. But what it lacks in space and climate control, it more than makes up for in art, soul and cool retro stuff.
Crossing over the threshold, you get a sense of being in a place where interesting things could happen at any moment. In the cheerful, bright-green kitchen, with its handmade cabinets and shelves filled with vintage dishware, it’s easy to imagine Millions—wearing one of her trademark 1950s aprons—serving up a glass of iced tea to a road-weary Hank Williams, or passing out jelly jars of moonshine to Question Mark and the Mysterians, who’ve just stopped by after a late-night gig. If the Coen brothers shot a movie in Asheville, someone would inevitably direct their location scout here.
But there’s nothing staged or studied about the atmosphere. It feels like what it is—an expression of Millions’ fascination with the music and material culture of a certain era, mainly the ‘50s (though she’s also fond of the ‘30s and ‘40s), and her appreciation for art and people on the fringe. The Michigan native, now 50, has had so many jobs over the years—from waitress to data entry clerk to executive assistant at a stock brokerage—that it’s hard to even count them, she says. But through them all, she’s made time for collecting, as well as her own art—mainly paintings, shrines and dioramas.
And it shows. From the Hank Williams shrine to the bright red, rhinestone-encrusted Mardi Gras umbrella that once belonged to Fats Domino, the unexpected is the norm in the Fairview cabin. On the wood-paneled walls of the living room, R&B 45s adorn the space above a cabinet housing a group of folk-art chickens and a tramp-art cross. 1950s souvenir ashtrays and postcards sit side by side with pinecone elves and memory jars. Glitter-covered Styrofoam Sputniks dangle from the ceiling above shell-encrusted nicknack boxes. “Handmade and heartfelt,” are the qualities that these disparate objects share, says Millions—two words that more or less sum up her philosophy about art and life.
Despite the amount of stuff on display, the house feels remarkably uncluttered. Little groupings and tableaus share wall or shelf space without crowding each other out. While Millions has surely never been accused of restraint in decorating, she can be a skilled editor. “Suzie,” an old boss once said to her, “you have a knack for spatial relations.”
Millions isn’t a collector in the hobbyist sense of the word—she doesn’t compulsively seek out complete sets of high-ball glasses or the rarest edition of a particular blues release. And even though she appears to have single-handedly salvaged the souvenirs of a generation, her motivation isn’t preservationist. “I just buy what I like,” she says, often from yard sales, junk shops, flea markets and online auctions. She doesn’t have many closely-held junking secrets. In fact, she offers tips on how to do it in The Complete Book of Retro Crafts, published by Lark Books in January. Her success, it seems, can be chalked up to years of experience and an artist’s eye.
She’s also attracted to the stories behind the objects. The dozens of ceramic skunk figurines in the house were originally part of an estate, according to a junk-shop owner, so Millions couldn’t bear to see them separated. Little hand-carved leaves scattered about remind her of childhood walks in the woods with her grandfather. Her Johnny Cash autograph—on the back of a room service bill from 1987—is one of her prized possessions. (She’s most interested in what he ordered—blueberry pancakes at two in the morning.)
Though much of the 59-acre property surrounding the house is steep and wooded, Millions has put her stamp on the outbuildings and useable land. A dilapidated shed near the house says “ART” in big blue letters. And a former coop for real chickens is now home to a plaster one, as well as a framed photo of former surgeon general C. Everett Coop—another thrift-store find and example of Millions’ wry sense of humor.
While she and Wille spend a lot of time at their cavernous studio in downtown Asheville, Millions says she always loves coming back to the Fairview retreat, where a lazy cat, Alveno, really does prowl the grounds. The place may not have a lot of space, but it does have a lot of soul.
photos by Steve Mann
This is the kind of home real estate agents euphemistically refer to as “cozy” and “rustic.” Aside from the bathroom, there are just four small rooms. There’s little insulation, and winters can be cold. But what it lacks in space and climate control, it more than makes up for in art, soul and cool retro stuff.
Crossing over the threshold, you get a sense of being in a place where interesting things could happen at any moment. In the cheerful, bright-green kitchen, with its handmade cabinets and shelves filled with vintage dishware, it’s easy to imagine Millions—wearing one of her trademark 1950s aprons—serving up a glass of iced tea to a road-weary Hank Williams, or passing out jelly jars of moonshine to Question Mark and the Mysterians, who’ve just stopped by after a late-night gig. If the Coen brothers shot a movie in Asheville, someone would inevitably direct their location scout here.
But there’s nothing staged or studied about the atmosphere. It feels like what it is—an expression of Millions’ fascination with the music and material culture of a certain era, mainly the ‘50s (though she’s also fond of the ‘30s and ‘40s), and her appreciation for art and people on the fringe. The Michigan native, now 50, has had so many jobs over the years—from waitress to data entry clerk to executive assistant at a stock brokerage—that it’s hard to even count them, she says. But through them all, she’s made time for collecting, as well as her own art—mainly paintings, shrines and dioramas.
And it shows. From the Hank Williams shrine to the bright red, rhinestone-encrusted Mardi Gras umbrella that once belonged to Fats Domino, the unexpected is the norm in the Fairview cabin. On the wood-paneled walls of the living room, R&B 45s adorn the space above a cabinet housing a group of folk-art chickens and a tramp-art cross. 1950s souvenir ashtrays and postcards sit side by side with pinecone elves and memory jars. Glitter-covered Styrofoam Sputniks dangle from the ceiling above shell-encrusted nicknack boxes. “Handmade and heartfelt,” are the qualities that these disparate objects share, says Millions—two words that more or less sum up her philosophy about art and life.
Despite the amount of stuff on display, the house feels remarkably uncluttered. Little groupings and tableaus share wall or shelf space without crowding each other out. While Millions has surely never been accused of restraint in decorating, she can be a skilled editor. “Suzie,” an old boss once said to her, “you have a knack for spatial relations.”
Millions isn’t a collector in the hobbyist sense of the word—she doesn’t compulsively seek out complete sets of high-ball glasses or the rarest edition of a particular blues release. And even though she appears to have single-handedly salvaged the souvenirs of a generation, her motivation isn’t preservationist. “I just buy what I like,” she says, often from yard sales, junk shops, flea markets and online auctions. She doesn’t have many closely-held junking secrets. In fact, she offers tips on how to do it in The Complete Book of Retro Crafts, published by Lark Books in January. Her success, it seems, can be chalked up to years of experience and an artist’s eye.
She’s also attracted to the stories behind the objects. The dozens of ceramic skunk figurines in the house were originally part of an estate, according to a junk-shop owner, so Millions couldn’t bear to see them separated. Little hand-carved leaves scattered about remind her of childhood walks in the woods with her grandfather. Her Johnny Cash autograph—on the back of a room service bill from 1987—is one of her prized possessions. (She’s most interested in what he ordered—blueberry pancakes at two in the morning.)
Though much of the 59-acre property surrounding the house is steep and wooded, Millions has put her stamp on the outbuildings and useable land. A dilapidated shed near the house says “ART” in big blue letters. And a former coop for real chickens is now home to a plaster one, as well as a framed photo of former surgeon general C. Everett Coop—another thrift-store find and example of Millions’ wry sense of humor.
While she and Wille spend a lot of time at their cavernous studio in downtown Asheville, Millions says she always loves coming back to the Fairview retreat, where a lazy cat, Alveno, really does prowl the grounds. The place may not have a lot of space, but it does have a lot of soul.
Verve-acious
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