Flipping through Departures yesterday I was enchanted by a design by Giampiero Bodino. If anything delights me more than chairs, it’s bracelets. Filing this one neatly into the category “Bracelets I Cannot Afford.” Yet, anyway.
Speaking of Departures, I’m off to Paris for a few days. Stories to follow.
I swiped the image from here, but cannot find sources. (I do try.) You can find Bodino’s site here.
Before the holidays, the boys had trouble coming up with things that they wanted for Christmas.
This generated equal parts relief and concern. I was relieved that they were not greedy, and concerned that this might be because they have too much already. Concerned, also, as I wanted to get them a few things – nothing extravagant – but something personal and festive.
Almost coincidentally, they each ended up with a piece of art and something silly for his room. It’s what I want to buy, of course – things for their rooms – rather than electronics or soccer jerseys. But no one knows more than I how difficult it can be to give something personal. (It’s a contradiction, in fact, isn’t it?)
For this reason they are happier than their grandparents want them to be receiving cash and gift cards. They’d rather buy what they want themselves. If you have a little bit of that in you as well, you might want to spend your holiday stash on Heart and Home: Rooms that Tell Stories. The homes that are featured are highly personal and beautifully curated. Seeing these homes makes you think you know their inhabitants a little better; reading the text confirms this is so.
If you ended up with a little extra jingle – or feel you simply deserve a self-indulgent treat – you can find Heart and Home; Rooms that Tell Stories here.
Images, top, the home of Ray Azoulay, photography Laura Hull; following two, the home of Kate Hume, photography Frans van der Heyden; bottom, the Miami home of Gene Meyer and Frank de Biasi, photography Mark Roskams.
I have given myself over to starting work at my computer with a visit to Pinterest. It is automatic now and I find that the images clear my mind of the chatter and enable me to focus. I don’t get distracted there. I don’t click around. I absorb what I see and when I get to the place where I left off on my previous visit, I close the tab and start working.
Each day there’s a jumble of images and subject matter, though you won’t be surprised that not very many people whom I follow post recipes. There’s always a smattering of quotes and I like these as one never knows just what will strike one’s heart. Timing, with both hearts and inspiration, can be everything.
This week I ran across a quote by writer Neil Gaiman. In his wish for the new year he says, “Don’t forget to make some art – write or draw or build or sing as only you can.” I had never considered before that there are people who would need this kind of encouragement. I had never considered before that there are people who never create.
I hope their numbers are few. Their hearts, I fear, are heavy. Very likely their footsteps, too. Nearly everyone must, even occasionally, make something from almost nothing; a sketch of the swing that needs repair, an omelette, a row of peas, a lullaby.
But if you don’t, I wish that you would. In all fairness, those of us who push words or paint or chairs or musical notes around must do things that are outside our nature. We have no choice. I could put all these daunting tasks under the heading of “math.” We must manage bank accounts and gather paperwork for taxes. We must measure walls and furniture and time, even though we believe we are pretty good at eyeballing. We might not do any of these things easily or beautifully, but we manage. And when we do, we have a little rush of secret pride that we have tackled something so foreign and at the very least, not fucked it up.
So it seems only fair that those of you who say, “Oh, I can’t…” draw or write or sing (truly, I cannot sing – there are witnesses) should give it a go. Very few of us who would put ourselves in a creative category, do something just right the first time. Usually, after the first go, we stand with our heads cocked to the side and think, “No. Not quite.” Or worse, “Disaster.” Then we do it again. And again. Do not be discouraged if you don’t capture your lover’s smile in the first sketch, or the mood of the day in the first draft or a perfect “C” ever. If you have done it, as Gaiman says, “as only you can,” there will be no finer creation.
I used to do a round up of my favorite rooms published in the shelter magazines over the year. I have not, as I said I would not, kept much track of this sort of thing. But the room, top, has been on my bedside table, dustier than I care to admit, since summer. This room captures something to which I aspire. Groundedness, lift, light. Books, art, stuff. Threadbare and modern, with a little bit of red.
The home of Benoist Drut of Maison Gerard, photography by William Waldron; produced by Robert Rufino; Elle Decor, July/August 2014.
There is a house at 55th near State Line that used to be owned by a very charming couple, both with thick, dark hair, flashing dark eyes and generous smiles. They have three boys as I do, though theirs are now grown. I have always been inspired by her easy way in her role as fraternity house mother and by her abundant peonies.
The house is a large, brick Tudor that is squarish rather than long. Every year she put a Christmas tree in the front hall and the lights sparkled through the glass of the front door and I was enchanted, each time that I drove by, at the thought of a Christmas tree greeting visitors as they enter your home during the holidays. It is not something I ever imagined for myself. I never thought I would have the kind of space to set up a Christmas tree in the entry.
My house has a funny not-quite-entry, not-quite-part-of-the-living-room space to it. There is a perfect spot here for a table just under the stairs and I had just the right table and, of course, plenty of stuff to put upon it. What it needed was a lamp, but there was no outlet nearby. In my fret and worry of expense and my imagining that it would be difficult to add to an outlet there – for why wasn’t there one already, as the spot so obviously wanted it – I tried to put the idea out of my mind.
But as we drew nearer to the holiday and I moved furniture in my imagination to make space for the tree, nothing made sense. I realized that this spot, where the table normally lives, was perfect. Moving the table was easy, but the issue of the outlet needed to be addressed.
I outlined all the difficulties to a friend; the expense, the likely inability for an outlet to be placed there at all, the not knowing someone who could do it. She said, “I have a guy.” And she did. And he popped an outlet in the wall – and two others – for a very reasonable price, in a relatively short amount of time. All the difficulty, all the obstacles, all the stress was manufactured. None of it was real.
The charming couple has moved and their former home is undergoing renovations, hopefully being carefully modified to suit the family who now owns it. This year there are no decorations there. Instead, plywood covers the windows; changes take place out of the view of passers by. But I have a Christmas tree in my front hall and the lights sparkle through the glass of the front door and I am enchanted each time I drive up to see it greeting me and my guests during the holiday.
Thank you, as always, for dropping in. I am wishing you the best in the new year.
Patricia
I ran into a friend at the grocery store last week and we traded stories of a very trying year as we stood by the apples. We were aware that we were in the way of other people and were polite, as midwesterners are, but mildly indifferent to their inconvenience.
As we parted by the check-out line I said, “My new mantra is, ‘Nothing bad is happening.” Which doesn’t always mean that something bad is not happening, but that it can always be managed. Or out-waited. I continued, “In fact, I just had that tattooed on the inside of my hip.” He had no time to reply as I wheeled into 10 Items or Less and he was bound for bigger things.
I will neither confirm nor deny if I have, indeed, gotten a tattoo on the inside of my hip, but getting a tattoo is not really the point. Getting a tattoo is something that I have said that I would never, ever do. I don’t mind tattoos. Sometimes I think they are incredibly cool. Remarkably sexy. And there is always a story of inspiration or triumph or regret. I do love people’s stories. But I’d never wanted a tattoo for myself.
Then, in a year when I’ve done a number of things I thought I would never, ever do, the idea of getting a tattoo began to have some appeal. I had a couple of ideas of what it would be. The next hurtle was determining where I would put it.
And in a manner which is completely consistent with my penchant for doing something brave and my reticence for anyone knowing anything about it, I began to evaluate where I could put a tattoo that would never show, except to someone with whom I was intimate. As I still wear a bikini (and yes, some of you have let me know that you think this is wildly inappropriate at my age; I don’t care) this didn’t leave a lot of real estate for ink.
The areas covered by bikini, while not large, are largely tender and largely affected by gravity. I did not think putting it on my back was a good idea. A tattoo would be for me; I would want to see it. The spot just in the hollow of my left hip bone, smooth and tender and never tanned, seemed just right. And whether or not I let a very hirsute man shoot ink under my skin with a needle is not the point. The point is, that at an age when some people think I should retire my bikini, I can decide for myself to get a tattoo, or be a bother at the grocery store, or see myself in a way that may make people uncomfortable and know that all of it can be managed. Nothing bad is happening.
This all started as a calming voice in the ever-stress-inducing days leading up to this often-hateful holiday marketed as joy and fa-la-la. Yes, the point of shipping has passed, but shipping should not be your point. These images are from Oracle, Fine Curiousities in Crossroads. All of their inventory is a product of natural death. (My middle did say, “What is it with you and dead things?”) They articulate the skeletons in-house and they are remarkably beautiful. Part of the shop’s mission is to be a resource for artists who use these elements in their work. Most of my gifts have come from local merchants; Stuff, The Nelson, Hammerpress, Dolphin Frames, The Dime Store, Local Pig, Rainy Day Books, The General Store and Urban Provisions. Shop local, wherever you are. Embrace the madness. Talk to people; they tell good stories.
