I love the look of tarnished silver. Sorry, mom. I know just what you would say: "Stop being so lazy and polish your silver!" My mother kept a spotless house. A piece of tarnished silver was, in her eyes, a mortal sin. Dust on the furniture? Two Hail Marys. Dirt on top of the fridge? A rosary. Tarnished silver? You're going straight to hell. On the Hell Express.
Now, don't get me wrong; shining silver is beautiful, but it's all about the surface. It's all reflections. And, for me, it's sometimes just a little too much bling. Tarnished silver has age, and depth, and a mystery to it. (Like a woman of a certain age, no?)
It's been around the block. Or stuffed into the back of a cupboard. It's dull, and soft, and a little knocked up. It's endearing.
It looks fabulous with brown transferware.
Or holding a few green apples.
Or stuffed with late summer blooms.
I just love tarnished silver. Sorry, mom.