I received my sculpture from Bill LaCivita last week.  The dim UPS man left it in its cardboard box in the middle of the front step in a driving rain storm.  I picked it up like an abandoned newborn and set it gently on the floor of the front hall.

Fortunately she was well-packed and quite safe and dry.  She brushed aside my fussing, a no-nonsense gal I could tell right away.  I’ve tried her out a few different places.  I liked her a lot in the front hall, but she was nervous, and I think she was right, that the boys and basketballs and lacrosse sticks that make their way through there would be perilous.

I seem to be making the office my nest and I like the idea of being able to see her every day while I’m working.  Bill had originally thought he would send me a piece that he had already completed, but decided instead to create a new one.  A goddess.  How could he have possibly known how much I love turquoise?  I might call her Deborah as an allusion to her Mitford eyes.

The prints are Guinness’s own work and they popped up on Vogue’s gift guide this year.  I’ve had a crush on them for a while; my black and white art fetish is the source of teasing between me and the elder Mr. Blandings whose tastes run to stately oil landscapes.

I had visited some of Guinness’s pieces at John Derian’s while in New York.  The dogs are charming, but I am mostly drawn to the floral silhouettes.

Imagine my delight upon drifting into George in Crestwood to find two walls filled with Guinness’s pieces.  Doubly happy to find them encased in vintage frames.

Please do remember your independent retailers this season.  Kansas City is home to some wonderful shops.  George in particular has a level of sophistication to rival the best in any city.

Refine your taste.  Educate your palette.  Determine what you like, not what some corporate marketing department wants to sell you.

 

Imagine what your home would be, what your life would be, if your things were not there to just fill space, were not there to impress, were maybe not even particularly just right, but brought you joy each and every time you brushed by them.

Imagine what your home would be if you applied the same unerring taste that George Terbovich and Connie Beall apply to this shop.

The insets in the hand painted ceiling are large, color copies that have been applied with a temporary adhesive.  A perfect nod to the holidays.  You could do it yourself.  If you like it.

I do.

Photography from Vogue Francois Halard.  Many thanks to my friend Mandy who reminded me of the image.

Last month Courtney Barnes and Jennifer Dwyer were featured in Atlanta Homes and Lifestyles.  When Courtney posted the image of the cover I thought, “Hey, that’s Roxy!”

The small sculpture on the end table is by Tom Corbin, a Kansas City artist.  Corbin lives not far from me and I have the pleasure of running into his lovely wife quite often.  On occasion she has their Standard Poodle, Roxy, with her.  They have a wonderful piece, “Woman Walking,” in their garden and Rosie and I admire her on our walks.

I then spied another Corbin piece in Southern Accents November/December issue.  While I’ve singled out the smaller pieces, much of Corbin’s work is quite large, in fact, life sized.

Still, I have a weakness for the smaller works.  The study, Girl with Purse II, is my current crush.  To see more of Corbin’s work tick here; he is widely represented throughout the states including Holly Hunt in both Chicago and New York and Jerry Pair in Atlanta.

A bit of trivia, though I have never seen it, I know many of you are fans of the interiors in the film A Perfect Murder.  Apparently one of Corbin’s pieces was used in the sets.  That’s my kind of “I spy.”

Cali Hobgood-Lemme was showing her gripping photos of, well, people’s things.  I fell for them instantly and it didn’t hurt that the first one I saw was the stack of white shirts.

On her site, she talks about the origin of the piece, how these shirts remind her of her well-dressed father and how his shirts came back from the cleaners folded and pressed in a stack – the cardboard, a treasured prize.  I think that is the natural appeal.  They are the first sentence of the story that plays in your head the minute you see them.

Like when your chickens start laying eggs for the first time.
Or the office/guest bedroom where you stayed when you visited that held the typewriter that your sports writer grandfather used when he didn’t want to go back downtown to the paper.
Or that fabulous photo of your other grandfather in profile on his front porch in a straw hat.
Or your photographer father’s camera collection and how he’ll stand in the kitchen and tell you the stories of where he found each one.
And every book that touched your soul and made you see the world in a whole new way from your tiny, yellow bedroom in Tulsa, Oklahoma.