I wear the same JCrew chino everyday; I have them in caramel, dusty rose and grey. Last week, I found a rip in the derriere of my newest pair. I’ve no idea how it happened, but thankfully I was at home when it did. When I took them back to JCrew yesterday, the manager didn’t flinch about getting me another pair. She couldn’t have been more gracious. It wasn’t down the seam, and they were purchased months ago, so I really wasn’t sure if they’d replace them. But they did. And as such, I will buy my chinos there until the end of time. Isn’t it nice when things go our way?
It wasn’t that long ago that I moved through the city –– from swimming pools to playgrounds to birthday parties and playdates –– pushing two children in a stroller with a baby on my chest. It’s kind of amazing to me that my little body was once able to do all that. These days, I can barely lift a sleeve of clay without doing my neck in. But I wouldn’t change a thing. I was a human tree to three orangutans, and I did my best to give, and to absorb all the love I could. Ten years into motherhood, and my children hang off my boughs much less than they used to. The littlest one has stopped wanting to be carried, and reaching into my top. They’re still always within a metre of me, but it’s a lot less physically consuming. Yesterday, I took all three to the doctor for an annual check up and our pediatrician commented on how rarely she now sees them all together. It reminded me of how often I and/or Jason was up there with the whole kit and kaboodle. In the baby years, they were very often all sick at once, or in need of a vaccination at the same time. What was lovely about yesterday, was how I was able to sit back and watch the three of them take care of themselves, and each other. Iole helped Luma with her wellies, and Antimo talked her through what to expect from her booster shot. “There’s so much love between these three,” said the pediatrician. It was the most heart-swelling thing I’ve heard in weeks. They bicker like mad, and they rarely hold hands or hug the way they used to, but every now and then, I too observe that deep rooted love between them, and it knocks me sideways.
I’m amazed by how much expression some artists achieve with just a few lines. Modigliani, Picasso & Matisse were maestros at this. Alison Angelini’s squigly portraits are beautifully influenced by all three. This one here, with big lips and flowers in her hair, is a personal favourite, and I love the long nose and single chandelier on this one. I’ve seen a whole wall of them, each one with a slightly different expression on her face.
There’s something so beautiful and delicate about the tissue texture of poppy petals. My neighbour has some growing in her back garden, and every summer, they bring me such pleasure. Hers are enormous, and the colour of peaches. My Mum had a gorgeous dress made from moiré silk and those flowers remind me of that dress. She looked amazing in it.
Coral table, Miro and Matisse, and a vase that looks like a pineapple. I love all the mismatched pottery on the 1950s sideboard, and that green picture wall is so rich and playful. Whitewashed floors always brighten a room, the more weathered the better.
Good golly, miss Molly, to think that there was a time when women dressed in floor length chiffon to go out to dinner. The last time I dined out, I wore wide flannel pants and a big wool jumper. I want someone to throw a dinner party that calls for gowns. Gowns with long gloves and decadent jewels. Maybe I’ll throw one myself. And serve takeaway sushi, or a large Carbonara.
I held a little pinch pot made by Hackney-based ceramicist, Ana Kerin the other day, and felt inspired to whip up some bowls of my own. They were small and wonky, with rims that looked unfinished. It was the imperfection, and the artist’s celebration of that imperfection, that I was drawn to. And yet, in my own attempts, I tinkered, smoothed and polished away all the lumps and bumps that I had so enjoyed in Kerin’s work. We’re so forgiving, embracing even, of another maker’s marks. Finger prints. Wonky rims. Scratchy signatures. But in our own work, we see flaws. Mistakes. Kerin’s style, confidence, is one I aspire to. I’m on my way; practice makes more practice.
I’m always on the hunt for good quality sweaters that I’ll love for years to come. I’ve worn the same steady rotation of winter woollies for years, a pink pom-pomed cardi being a favourite. I like these jumpers from Apiece Apart, and I can see classics like this cream cable knit in my wardrobe for a decade. I love the sleeves on this navy sweater, and this crochet one transitions nicely from winter to spring.
Fashion designer turned artist, Rogan Gregory makes furniture and lighting that is as sculptural as it is functional. Wood, bronze, concrete, marble, beach sand, alabaster, granite and semi-precious stones are among the materials he explores. His pendents –– womb like –– are breathtaking. And this one, made from gypsum, looks like another planet. I was taken by this film of REM’s Michael Stipe in conversation with Gregory. “The result isn’t the answer, it’s the process.” Much of his work takes place in and around his home in Amagansett, New York. It’s pretty beautiful to watch him handling rocks down at the beach. “The shapes are dictated by what the material is telling me to do,” says Rogan of the meditative state he achieves while making. Stripe ends with a thought about the 21st Century, and the vastness of material that we have at our disposal. “There’s so much to learn, and so much to know. You have to be very careful about what you want to look at and what you want to listen to. Because we all have finite time here.”
