Thursday, November 29, 2012
Speaking of John Robshaw, (we were, Monday - do try to keep up) I've gone back to look at the paint color in his bedroom several times. (In Elle Decor, not in Mr. Robshaw's actual bedroom, but I'm sure you got that.) It's not dissimilar to the color in his showroom the last time I was there. (And, perhaps, now, though I can't say for sure.)
I've been looking for a peacocky concoction. I keep kicking it around for my powder room, which is ridiculously large at a staggering 7'x7'. It could be a bedroom if you don't reach your hands over your head when you stretch. I first spied the image that the paint is atop on Little Augury and have carried it around in both mental and paper form since. I truly do, in every way, want to paint a Greek key dado somewhere, someway, somehow.
So that below, rich summer night sky above (ceiling, too.) Originally, I was a little worried about a color that deep in a space that large. Then there was Robshaw and his bedroom (see, I brought it back around) which seem quite happily clad.
I'd jump right in, but that pattern is going to require a little math. You know how I am about math. It may have to wait until after the holiday.
Image, Vogue, May, 2007; photography by Steven Meisel, produced by Grace Coddington, set design Mary Howard and panels by Sarah Oliphant, whom I wish I knew so she could help me measure.
Robshaw's bedroom is Benjamin Moore Kensington Blue. The paint, above, is highly evolved Benjamin Moore Galapagos Turquoise.
Monday, November 26, 2012
"What's Dexter doing?" he asked, taking a break from shopping and cooking.
"He's obsessed. The neighbors' daughter is home with her two daschunds. When she lets them out they come charging toward our yard, then stop about two feet from the fence."
"And, I don't know. For the last two days he's been sitting at the fence for hours just looking at their backdoor. I guess today it's too cold, so he moved inside. He's a dope."
"It's the equivalent of having two Playboy bunnies move in next door."
"I suppose," she said, with a slow blink.
Four days later his vigil continues, the desperation of his yearning so palpable she can't help feeling sorry for him. Occasionally he turns and looks at her and lets out a long whine, while she imagines his loves sound asleep by the hearth, their long silky ears laid flat against the floor.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
"Look back, go back," say my yoga instructors as we stand in a room heated to over one hundred degrees and they encourage me to arch into a backbend. I resist. The wooziness, they tell me, is caused by uncomfortable emotions that rise to the surface in the pose. What of the sharp pain that occurs a few inches north of my tailbone? It's possible, of course, that both are the result of my forty-seven years of schlepping things around: chairs, babies, resentment. Looking back can make me unsteady.
Yet, there are times when casting to the past brings great satisfaction. On a trip to New York three years ago, John Robshaw took the time to visit with me in his showroom. The space was flooded with light and Mr. Robshaw has a very groovy vibe. He's sexy in a way that is not overt and aggressive, but emits something of a low hum. It keeps one quite engaged.
As we talked prints and process he asked where I was headed next. When I reported that I was off to see Christopher Spitzmiller, he told me that he had just been there to look for lamps for his bedroom. He went on to describe bases that Christopher had used to test glazes, large swaths of color swiped across the pottery; these were the ones he wanted. They sounded like just the sort of thing I would want, too. Classic. Custom. Quirky.
They are and I do. You can see them in this month's Elle Decor. In the back.
Image, Elle Decor, December 2012; photography William Waldron, produced by Anita Sarsidi.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
As much as I love having fresh flowers in the house, I find them difficult. Difficult to plan in the planting; worse still when it comes to arranging. In my hands, it's something just short of mauling. In fact, the blooms may need therapy once their trembling stems come to rest in the vase. At the very least I'm sure they commiserate with one another over their brutish treatment.
Then, a week or so ago, Susan from Rainy Day Books called to say, "There's a new book I think you might like." I know you're thinking this call might have gone out to dozens, might not have been meant just for me. But I think it was.
Carolyn Roehm and Sylvie Becquet's photographs for Ms. Roehm's new book, Flowers, are simply stunning and gloriously large. I felt like I could crawl right in and hide inside a peony - a most delicious escape (and one which I'm sorely needing.) But better still, the arrangements are largely one or two blooms, in containers of standard shapes if extraordinary form. The extra-added bonus being that each flower featured can be grown right here in my own zone. Heaven, within my reach.
Beautiful and practical (how often does that happen?) Flowers will not only help me structure my arrangements, but my garden as well. I could not be more delighted. Flowers, by Carolyne Roehm, here.
I received no compensation for this post, in fact, I bought the book myself. And I'm glad I did.