These pendents, can we even call them that, are the most beautiful lights I’ve ever seen. Yes, I’m wild about shells, but these winged beauties are ark clams with angel wings. They look enormous, which just adds to the drama, and I love them against this soft greenish-blue wall.
Just look at these Pratesi linens, so soft, delicate and feminine. I’m a sucker for a scalloped edge. With ceilings this grand, you know we’re in Italy, and this just happens to be Dede Pratesi’s Tuscan Villa. Have a spin around, the kitchen is a cook’s delight. And I love the ochre, green and powder blue walls.
We went for a walk today into the back alleys of Summerhill. As we stepped out of our house, we were greeted with snow flurries, shortly followed by a wallop of cold wind that swept us off our feet. By the time we reached Ramsden Park, the sun was out in all its glory, and it felt like spring again. April in Toronto is the month where winter and spring intersect; spring sends love notes in the form of a bluebells and forsythia, while winter takes its last big breaths. I love to tell my son that he was born between two seasons, that tiny buds of pink sprung from bare branches, while the sun shone and the snow fell.
If Peonies had little sisters, they’d be Ranunculus. They aren’t the scene stealing beauties that their older sister is, but they have a whimsical charm that is all their own. I can’t think of a colour that Ranunculus don’t come in –– barely-there-pink, tangerine and so-plum-it-looks-black are my favourites –– and their wonky stems always amuse me. It’s one of my favourite Springtime treats, to stuff a vase with dozens of Ranunculus in every colour.
‘I lost my mother in the UK and she left me a bit of money, so I decided to put a pool on the roof because I knew it would make her very happy to see us sitting in the pool.” says Aussie costumier, Rose Chong of her little block of blue in the heart of Fitzroy. Chong says she does all her thinking up there, and that you can see the pool on Google Earth. She calls it the Good Room, and even holds meetings up there. “I mean it’s not suitable for high class swimming, it’s only suitable for sitting around, floating on the pineapple and a bit of drinking.”
“Everybody really misses something,” said Bruce Springsteen on a recent one-hour E Street Radio special. “What do you miss? I miss going to Max’s and the Windmill and getting a hot dog. I miss walking along the promenade and beach boardwalk in Asbury Park. I miss sitting at the bar and having some beers and drinks with some friends.” He also says he misses baseball. That must be huge for fans, the void of missing games. I don’t know a lot about Springsteen, but these humble answers seem bang on with what I’d expect. And really, aren’t we all missing more or less the same things? A favourite local restaurant, a comfortable mosey along a familiar street, a clinking of glasses at a neighbourhood bar.
Just look at these fabulous old rockers! They’re made in Oxfordshire in England, and fashioned from velvet, linen and voile. The candy stripe has a decidedly 20s feel –– it reminds of those beach tents you see in the French countryside –– and I love the Schiaparelli pink one with flirty tassel. Don’t these pictures whisk you to a world of Pimm’s, bonnets and late summer plum cake? There’s even a photo of HRH Prince Charles happily settled into a raspberry rocker. No doubt, he’s had a Pimm’s or two.
My fascination with loos began in early childhood, when a trip to the powder room felt like a flirtation with independence. I’d skip through the restaurant to the sound of clinking glasses, music and chatter. Once in the loo, (I rarely needed to pee) I’d watch women with pouffy hair-dos adjusting their tortoise-shell combs, applying a scarlet lipstick or spritzing their wrists in some decadent scent. And I’d listen to their conversations with a hawk’s ear. Sometimes, they’d engage with me, ask me what I liked to do at school or compliment my dress, and that was a thrill. The really fancy loos had a bathroom attendant who’d give me a plaster or a packet of cotton buds to take away with me. That was a thrill, too. In those days, you could smoke everywhere, even in the ladies’ room. Silver ashtrays sat on every vanity. I found that so chic. Very often, I’d stay so long that all the ice would have melted into my Shirley Temple when I’d return to the table. But I didn’t care. My trips to the loo were an adventure. An experience. An education. I’m still kind of potty about loos. And I never miss an opportunity to check out a really lovely one. It’s the one room we get to explore alone, take in the details –– a wallpaper, a vintage toilet paper holder, the lights, linens, soap –– with no interruptions. Guest loos are so private, and yet so public. It’s one of the reasons why I find them so intriguing.
I came across the work of Swedish artist, Malin Gabriella Nordin today, and her colours drew me in. Her palette is fauvist colourful, and her collage work has a surrealist quality to it. Nordin’s Floating from Within series is great and includes works –– all up in the sky –– that I’d happily stare at all day. I think it’s the naive, almost childlike composition, and blocks of primary colour.
My Mum sent me this wonderful short film about sculptor, Ruth Duckworth that warmed and inspired me this morning. I’d never heard of Duckworth, and I find her nature inspired, milk white pieces so soothing to look at. With all that Dockworth lived through –– she was forced to leave Nazi Germany in the mid-30s –– she was still able to access a lightness and whimsy in her work. Perhaps, that’s how she survived. “Most of my work comes from play. Playing with the clay. And that’s the most creative thing you can do, is play,” says Duckworth. “I am fairly good at obstacles, and somehow or another, I get over them.”
All rights reserved © La Parachute · Theme by Blogmilk + Coded by Brandi Bernoskie