This time last week, I was thinking (and writing) about my grandparent’s pink cottage. Today, I came across another pink cottage that whisked me back to Bermuda, circa 1985. This cottage is in Dorset, and painted by the wonderfully talented Vanessa Bowman. Her simple, bucolic scenes, The Vegetable Garden, Last of the Figs, Watering the Sunflowers, are so cheering. I love how her still lives –– Dahlias and Pomegranate –– have a collage quality. Have a look at Bowman’s shop; her prints are delightful, and affordable.
It’s one of my favourite colours, mustard, with a hint of chartreuse. I have a coat in this colour, and it brings me joy to wear. These chairs are up there on my list of 100 most coveted items. It’s a long list, I know. The interior is designed by Pierre Yovanovitch whose work I admire a lot. Pull up a seat, why don’t you.
I came across the jubilant world of French artist, Alexandre Benjamin Navet today and I was drawn to his rich, primary colours, sketchy style, and playful compositions. “I’m someone who needs to understand the codes of a universe before freeing myself from them,” said Navet in a recent interview. I love this idea. It’s like following a recipe for a Waldorf Salad, and then improvising with pecans and pears. Some artists, spend their whole careers unlearning everything they’ve been taught at art school. This idea of paying homage to the past, observing the rules, understanding and respecting them, in order to break free of them resonates with me a great deal. It shows diligence, commitment, patience, courage and creativity. “You study, you learn, but you guard the original naivete,” said Matisse, whose sense of colour and pattern travels through Navet’s work. Have a look at his painted fresco on the facade of the Hotel Des Arts in Toulon. It’s such a happy sight. “When I create a fresco in a space, I always proceed in the same way: I research its history and seek inspiration in historical records, photos, and pictures.” And then his imagination leads the way.
Sometimes it seems that life lands so lightly on some people, and like an anvil on others. Today, a dear friend’s mum died. Both mother and daughter lived life to it seams, ripped through the seams. Polly died seven years ago, and part of me believes that the loss was just too much for her Mum to bare. What rich lives lived. I’d like to imagine a garden full of marigolds, where both women meet again.
For years now, I’ve been intrigued by people who collect things. A few summers ago, I wrote a series for Toronto Life in which I spotlighted weird and wonderful collections around the city, from vintage knives to love letters to hats, sneakers and taxidermy. Today, I came across the paper airplane collection of beat artist, Harry Smith. Found on New York’s streets between 1961 and 1983, his collection is pretty special. Take a look at these humble, and yet beautiful works of art.
