The Motorcycle Over Our Loveseat Isn’t Just Wall Art
How One Piece of Decor Tells a Whole Chapter of Our Story
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There’s a big motorcycle picture hanging over the gray loveseat in our house.
If you walked into the room without knowing us, you might think it’s just something we found because it looked good there.
You’d be wrong.
That picture isn’t there because it matches anything. It’s there because it’s the most meaningful wall art in our house.
That picture has absolutely nothing to do with matching the loveseat.
It has everything to do with me and BigDog.
And these days, I’m realizing that’s how I want our house to be.
I don’t want a house filled with things because some designer says they go together.
I want a house filled with things that tell our story.
And motorcycles are definitely part of ours.
I Didn’t Just Want to Ride on the Back
I’ve loved motorcycles for a long time.
But when BigDog and I moved to Arizona, I finally had the opportunity to do something I’d wanted to do for myself.
I wanted my own motorcycle.
Not just to ride behind BigDog.
I wanted to learn.
I took the motorcycle safety class. I got my motorcycle license.
And then I bought my bike.
A Harley-Davidson SuperLow.
Oh, I loved that motorcycle.
BigDog had his Road King, and there was something pretty damn cool about the two of us having our own bikes.
He had his.
I had mine.
And I proudly rode that SuperLow for…
About two months.
Yep.
Two damn months.
Because apparently life had other plans.
And Then I Crashed
I wish this were the part where I tell you I rode that motorcycle for years and BigDog and I traveled all over Arizona together.
That’s not what happened.
I crashed.
And it wasn’t a little oops, dropped the bike in the parking lot kind of crash.
I broke my jaw.
I broke my ankle.
And I chipped my femur.
Motorcycle: 1.
Gigi: 0.
Although, technically, I’m still here telling the story, so I’m calling it a draw.
But the physical injuries weren’t the only thing that changed.
Something happened to my confidence.
I Tried to Get Back on
This part matters to me.
I tried.
After everything healed enough and I had the opportunity to ride again, I got back on the motorcycle.
Because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right?
You fall down.
You get back up.
And I’ve done plenty of getting back up in my life.
But this time it felt different.
I didn’t feel comfortable anymore.
The motorcycle I had loved suddenly didn’t feel like freedom.
It felt like something I had to convince myself wasn’t going to hurt me again.
And I didn’t want to ride like that.
I didn’t want to spend every mile tense, scared or waiting for something to happen.
Eventually, I had to admit something I really didn’t want to admit.
I was done.
Selling That Bike Hurt
I sold my SuperLow.
And I was sad about it.
Not because it was a motorcycle sitting in the garage.
It represented something.
I’d wanted to ride.
I’d gone through the class.
I’d earned my license.
I’d bought the damn bike.
I’d actually done the thing I’d wanted to do.
And then almost as quickly as that chapter started, it ended.
But here’s something I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older:
Something doesn’t have to last forever to have mattered.
Those two months mattered.
I was a motorcycle rider.
I don’t have to add an asterisk to that because I eventually stopped riding.
I did it.
And I loved it.
Then BigDog Stopped Riding Too
BigDog still had his Road King after I sold my bike.
And he loved that damn motorcycle.
I took this picture of BigDog on his Road King, and it’s still one of my favorites.
Maybe it’s because I know what was happening on the other side of the camera. I was there. I was part of this chapter too.
When I look at it now, I don’t just see BigDog sitting on a motorcycle he loved.
I see us when we were motorcycle people who still had motorcycles in the garage.
He could have kept riding after I stopped.
But it wasn’t the same.
He didn’t really enjoy going out without me…Eventually, he sold the Road King.
And just like that, there weren’t motorcycles sitting in our garage anymore.
But here’s the funny thing.
Neither one of us stopped being motorcycle people.
And Now the Motorcycle Is Over Our Loveseat
Eventually, BigDog sold his Road King.
And just like that, there weren’t motorcycles sitting in our garage anymore.
But neither one of us stopped being motorcycle people.
We still notice them.
We still appreciate a beautiful bike.
We still have the memories.
That part of us didn’t disappear simply because we weren’t riding anymore.
And that’s what brings me back to our house today.
There is a motorcycle hanging over the loveseat where BigDog and Luna usually sit.
To somebody walking into our house, it might just look like motorcycle wall art.
But that’s not what BigDog and I see.
We see his Road King.
We see my SuperLow.
We see Arizona rides, helmets, leather jackets and the years when motorcycles were sitting in our garage waiting for us.
We see the chapter that came before the accident—and the chapter that came after it.
That’s why that motorcycle belongs on our wall.
It isn’t there because motorcycles fit some decorating style. It’s there because motorcycles fit our story.
Something Doesn’t Have to Last Forever to Have Mattered
We still notice them.
We still appreciate a beautiful bike.
We still have the stories—and Lord knows I have the scars. 😂
That part of us didn’t disappear just because we weren’t riding anymore.
Something doesn’t have to last forever to have mattered.
And maybe that’s exactly why the motorcycle hanging over our loveseat means so much to us now.
It isn’t just wall art.
It’s a reminder of who we were, what we did together, and a chapter of our life that still belongs in our home.
The One Piece of Wall Art We Didn’t Have to Debate
If you’ve been following my Boho Dream House stories, you already know that BigDog and I don’t always have the same decorating style.
That’s putting it nicely.
I’m the boho girl.
Give me turquoise, texture, warm woods, plants, something vintage-looking, color and a little bit of hippie.
BigDog?
Not so much.
We’ve had to figure out how two people with very different tastes can create one home that feels like both of them.
Sometimes that means compromise.
Sometimes it means living with a mattress and box spring for eight damn years because two adults can’t agree on a bed.
And sometimes…
we don’t have to negotiate at all.
The motorcycle picture was one of those times.
We both loved it.
We both wanted it.
We both knew it belonged in our house.
Because motorcycles belong to both of our stories.
And Now It Hangs Over BigDog and Luna’s Loveseat
Technically, I suppose it’s our loveseat.
Realistically?
It’s BigDog and Luna’s. 😂
It’s a gray loveseat, and that’s usually where you’ll find the two of them hanging out.
And right above them hangs this big motorcycle picture.
Every time I look at that wall, I don’t think:
Oh good, the colors work with the gray couch.
I think about our motorcycles.
His Road King.
My SuperLow.
I think about taking that class.
Getting my license.
The excitement of finally having my own bike.
The accident.
Trying to ride again.
Making the decision to stop.
BigDog eventually deciding riding wasn’t nearly as much fun without me.
There’s an entire chapter of our life hanging over that loveseat.
Maybe That’s What Decorating Should Be
I’ve been thinking differently about our home lately.
For years, I think decorating meant figuring out what style you liked and then finding things that fit that style.
And I still love decorating.
I still want things to look good.
I’m still going to put turquoise somewhere it probably doesn’t need to be.
Let’s not get ridiculous.
But I’m becoming much more interested in something else.
Does our house look like us?
Can you walk through it and discover little pieces of our lives?
The places we’ve traveled.
The people we love.
The things we’ve done.
The things we’ve survived.
The things that made us laugh.
Even the chapters that didn’t end the way we expected them to.
That’s the house I want.
Your Home Doesn’t Have to Match. It Has to Mean Something.
I could replace that motorcycle picture with something more “boho.”
I could probably find some gorgeous woven wall hanging or oversized botanical print that would fit my decorating style perfectly.
But I wouldn’t.
Because the motorcycle picture fits something much more important.
Our life.
BigDog had his Road King.
I had my SuperLow.
For a short time here in Arizona, we were both motorcycle riders.
I loved every damn minute of it.
Then I crashed.
I healed.
I tried again.
And ultimately I decided that riding wasn’t right for me anymore.
BigDog eventually stopped too.
But that doesn’t erase the chapter.
So now the motorcycles live on our wall, right above the gray loveseat where BigDog and Luna usually sit.
And somehow…
that feels exactly right.
So How Do You Actually Put Your Story on the Wall?
I get asked some version of this a lot.
“That’s beautiful, Gigi, but I don’t have a motorcycle picture. I have a box of photos in the closet and a bare wall.”
Okay. Let’s fix that.
Because here’s the thing. Most of us aren’t missing meaningful things. We’re missing the twenty minutes it takes to get them out of the closet and onto the wall.
Start with what you already have
Before you buy one single thing, go get the box.
You know the box. Photos, ticket stubs, the map from the trip, your dad’s watch, the recipe card in your mother’s handwriting.
Pull out five things you’d grab in a fire.
That’s your wall. You already own it.
Then make it big
This is the mistake I made for years. I’d frame a meaningful photo in a 5×7 and set it on a shelf where nobody ever looked at it.
Small says “nice.” Big says “this matters.”
That motorcycle picture is big. On purpose. You can’t walk into that room and not deal with it.
If you’ve got a photo that means something, get it printed as a canvas at a size that feels slightly ridiculous. That’s usually the right size.
Hang it at the right height
Free tip, and almost everybody gets it wrong.
Above a sofa or loveseat, the bottom of the frame should sit 6 to 10 inches above the back of the couch. Any higher and it floats off on its own like it doesn’t know anybody.
The art should also be roughly two-thirds the width of the furniture underneath it. Narrower than that and it looks like a postage stamp on a moving box.
And use the right hardware. I have put more holes in more walls than I care to admit.
Give it a little light
A picture that means something deserves to be seen after dark.
A small battery-operated picture light or a lamp aimed at the wall changes a piece from hanging there to on display. It’s a thirty-dollar difference that reads like a hundred.
If you want the things out where you can see them
Not everything wants to be framed. Some things want to sit out.
A picture ledge lets you lean and swap things without putting a new hole in the wall every time you change your mind. Which, if you’re anything like me, is often.
And if motorcycles are part of your story too
I couldn’t write this whole thing and not include it.
One rule though. Don’t buy a motorcycle picture because I have one. Buy the thing that’s yours. The whole point of this post falls apart if you decorate with somebody else’s story.
A few questions I get asked
“What if my spouse hates everything I pick?”
Then find the piece you both love and start there. BigDog and I don’t agree on much decorating-wise, but we didn’t debate that motorcycle picture for one second. One shared piece is worth more than a whole room of compromises.
“How high should I hang art over a loveseat?”
Bottom of the frame 6 to 10 inches above the back of the couch, and the art about two-thirds the width of the furniture. That’s it. That’s the whole rule.
“Isn’t it sad to display something from a chapter that ended?”
I thought it might be. It isn’t. Something doesn’t have to still be happening to have counted.
Welcome to Our Boho Dream House
I’m starting to realize that this series isn’t really about creating the perfect boho house.
Thank God, because BigDog would probably move out.
It’s about something much more interesting.
Creating a home that tells the story of the people who live there.
Some pieces are mine.
Some are his.
Some we compromise on.
And every once in a while, we find something that belongs equally to both of us.
The motorcycle picture is one of those things.
It isn’t just wall art.
It’s us.
And I wouldn’t replace it for anything.
Now Your Turn, Girl Tribe
Go look at your walls. Not the way you usually look at them. Actually look.
Is there anything up there that would tell a stranger who you are?
If the answer is no, you don’t need a decorator. You need the box in the closet and an afternoon.
And then tell me in the comments what you hung up. I want to hear about the ugly lamp your grandmother left you and the photo from the trip you almost didn’t take. That’s the good stuff.
If you want more of how we’re putting this house together one room at a time, it’s all in the Boho Dream House series — and there’s more cozy in Cozy Home & Patio.
Don’t decorate your house just to make everything match. Fill it with enough of your life that somebody walking through it can figure out who you are.
