Pure frivolity today in the form of Valentino couture. When the sleeves are this poofy, and the bow is this big, you have no choice but to feel like an Empress. This is what I’d wear to greet dignitaries and dance waltzes. With a pair of kick ass trainers.
Rattan furniture reminds me of my grandparents, and cocktail hour Palm Beach style. I’m not certain they ever actually owned rattan furniture, but it paints a good picture. I like the idea of my grandmother in tennis whites and a visor, kicking back with a gin and tonic in a beautiful cane lounger. Rita Konig wrote about rattan furniture the other day –– maybe it’s making a comeback? And she posted this picture of the Royal family lounging around at Windsor castle in their cane armchairs. How divine.
I love to see lots of natural wood in an interior, the more varieties the better. The beautiful Malibu home of Aaron Bruno, lead singer of the band Awolnation, stopped me in my tracks. It’s warm, light, airy and simple. With its farmhouse sink, open shelves and retro fridge, the kitchen is a bit of a dream, as are the spartan, sun-drenched bedrooms. Most of the furnishings are one-of-a-kind. California, dreamy.
Back when I was losing teeth, 50 pence was the going rate for your pearly whites. Personally, I don’t think the tooth fairy should leave more than a dollar or two. It’s magic enough that the little sprite even came. And for any child who doesn’t think she’s real, show them Rodarte’s FW18 collections. She was most certainly there.
My favourite Peony moment is a day or two before it loses its petals, when its wide open, and truly glorious. These ones here look like big, beautiful fried eggs. I’m not sure what these marigold pompoms are, but I love them. This is just the sort of wild and whimsical arrangement that I get excited about.
I’ve been flattened by flu twice this month, so I need to beef up my immune system. I’m starting with liver. It’s packed with nutritional gold, and I don’t mind the taste. At least I didn’t as a child which is the last time I ate liver. My Mum used to make it for us with a heap of wilted of spinach once a week. I looked up some recipes, but I think plain and pan fried is how I’m going to do it. Oh go then, add a few rashers of bacon if you must.
I love this chic interiors at this Paris hotel, especially the palette of soft corals, teals and blues in the rooms. There are so many great hotels to choose from in the city, but this one seems to marry old world romanticism with cool, contemporary style. The bar looks pretty decadent, just the place for a Vermouth cocktail after the opera.
I had a dream recently that I was sitting in a restaurant eating off plates that looked very similar to the ones I make. ‘These could be my plates sitting at the table,’ I thought. It was a validating little dream. It happens often in the world that one sees something written, painted, invented or molded out of clay, and thinks, “that was my idea, I could have done that.” But an idea is only as good as what you do with it. It’s the doers out there that I so admire. My friend Bianca has just recently added my pottery to her online shop, bibelot & token which I am very excited about. My concern, which I expressed to her, was that without seeing and holding the pieces, buyers may be disappointed by what arrives in the mail. Confidence in ones work, especially when it’s out in the world, (a tiny corner of it, but still) takes time to cultivate. I was inspired by what Sarah Lazarovic –– illustrator, designer, filmmaker, author and visual journalist –– had to say in a recent interview for Be The Next Her. “I think one of the most important things is to not self-deprecate. It took me years to get the subtle self-diminution out of my system. Be confident! Your ideas are just as awesome if not more awesome as the man next to you, who probably isn’t apologizing for his work.”
It’s been lots of textile rich interiors this week, but I couldn’t resist posting one more before the weekend. The eighteenth-century French country home of textiles dealer Susan Deliss is such a delight. It’s one room after another of beautiful colour and pattern. I love the warm apricot of the kitchen, the fabulous pink silk curtains in the living room and the mix of antique suzani and antique Ikat textiles in the bedroom. It’s a dreamy holiday home –– “It feels like a new house with an old soul. We did it for just us,” says Deliss. “Something that felt true and right.”
The other day, my friend Zelmira was sorting through old photos on her laptop and she sent me a picture of Iole and I just days after we came home from the hospital. It’s hard to wrap my head around the idea that the teeny tiny baby in the picture now has pierced ears and long hair and is upstairs lying on a bunk bed writing a letter to the tooth fairy. I read a blog post about the short term memory of parenthood and this line resonated with me; “I know that as parents, we are victims of some strange affliction which causes our children to always seem to have been the very age they are now. With the vocabulary they have now, and the athletic ability, and the emotional intelligence and you know, the haircuts. I look back at photos of my girls from only six months ago and it’s hard to imagine that such an age even occurred. It almost seems like my brain simply has no capacity to take on new information, new coping mechanisms and new crisis management skills without letting go of the old ones.” I couldn’t agree more. Even in the chaos of it all, I still feel present. I can’t imagine forgetting a single detail. Time feels like it stands still just long enough to take it all in. But then it speeds up again, and before I know it, I’m swept up in the next stage. And because each stage asks so much of me, it’s hard to linger in the one that passed, or think too much about the one that’s coming. It’s the gift and heartbreak of parenthood, that we let go to move forward.
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