Japanese artist, Jiro Yoshihara devoted a decade of his career to painting the perfect circle. He explored the motif tirelessly, creating countless circles with just one or two brush strokes. There are no two the same. I love the idea of dedicating oneself to one shape or one colour. Very often, its in that focus that we find endless freedom and possibility.
These moths and butterflies, made with hand-painted fabric, embroidery thread, feathers, and faux fur by North Carolina textile artist, Yumi Okita are so beautiful. Some of them are tiny, while others are a foot wide. Her patterns are so intricate, and they’re all designed to be wall mounted, or suspended from ceilings with clear wire. What a gorgeous window installation a kaleidoscope of Okita’s butterflies would make.
Sophie Woodrow’s porcelain figures are as weird as they are wondrous. Think cats with eights legs, anthropomorphic mushrooms and horses in ruffled gowns. It takes imagination to create such fantastical creatures; imagination, and exceptional skill. They all begin as a simple pinched pot and Woodrow uses coils of clay to build them up. The surface decoration is so intricate. Have a look; there’s a creature for everyone.
It’s a wonder that any child enjoys Christmas pudding given all the booze and beef fat that goes into it. I for one loved it as child –– the more brandy butter the better. There’s something wonderfully ceremonious about setting the pudding a light at the end of the meal. I remember being entranced by that electric blue flame. Here, Cotswolds chef, Charlie Hibbert shares his grandmother’s recipes.
With a loo dating back 700 years, and diamond encrusted insects pinned to stone walls, Roberto Baciocchi’s Tuscan home is popping with wonder and whimsy. Gio Ponti chairs, vintage velvet sofas and graphic 80’s rugs all set within a beautifully restored 18th century house make for a surreal experience, indeed. It’s the wall colours –– ochre, terracotta and sage green –– that I love most. The painted art (below, and throughout) is so clever and unique.
I learned my Greek alphabet around the same time that I learned my English one. Oddly, I always stumble at “Tau” (pronounced taff); somehow Phi, Chi, Psi and Omega didn’t cement themselves the way the other 20 letters did. Between fraternities, highways and a major airline, I rarely associate Delta with the Greek alphabet. Alpha, too has been claimed by dogs, films about dogs, startups, cable companies etc… But omicron –– that’s a word that I’ve only ever known as, “little o” in the Greek alphabet. Today, sweet little omicron –– a perfect oval –– is at the centre of millions of conversations among government officials, public health experts, scientists, doctors, teachers, parents, and lineups of ambivalent people arriving in droves to get last minute boosters before the holidays. Sweet little omicron, that now sounds like the name of a scary robot, that has sent many a sane human into an irrational frenzy. One day you’ll be ‘little o’ again, a sweet and insignificant letter in an alphabet that dates back a few thousand years.
It’s amaryllis season, and few flowers have the decadence and drama of a dark red amaryllis. My Mum used to buy bunches of them on December 20th to ensure that by Christmas Eve our table was adorned with a dozen amaryllis in full bloom. I love the flower’s thick, leek like stem and the way the petals feel like velvet. Most of all, I love that they remind me of a kitchen full of friends, food and flowers, laughing, singing and dancing well past midnight.
Glass half full, glass half empty. Glass runneth over. Some wanker stole my glass. So much of life is in the attitude, and the way we choose to see things. This made me laugh. Life is painful, and it’s delicious. A sense of humour ensures you’ll get your glass back, at the very least.
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