Kate Mary’s paintings are ones that you want to step into. A swimming pool, a greenhouse, a cobalt blue balcony overlooking trees and dappled sun. The Glasgow artist’s work is rich in flora and fauna and bold primary colours. David Hockney, Henri Matisse and Betty Woodman are major influences. I love the architectural details and the tiles in many of her paintings. It’s all so fresh and inviting.
It’s this pink sapphire waterfall that caught my eye. It’s striking, and yet everyday wearable. Alexa de la Cruz designs jewellery for women who appreciate the art of the subtle statement. Enter the Tulip ring. Or the Arcoíris Eternity Band, made up of Cabochon Australian opals in pastel hues. I love the watermelon tourmalines in these floral earrings. I wear hardly any jewellery these days, but de la Cruz’s pieces seem like they could quite quickly become part of one’s skin.
Margo Selby is widely available, (West Elm carries her pieces) but still very much committed to traditional hand weaving techniques. Textiles are woven into her life story, with a childhood spent crocheting, knitting and cross stitching with her grandmother. “My family have always had a tradition of women making textiles at home,” says the U.K. native. Her work is bold and joyful, with intricate patterns that play with geometry and repetition. “When I’m designing a rug, I treat the format as my canvas to create a piece of functional art.”
What I like about NeSpoon‘s lace murals is the contrast between her whimsical creations and the concrete walls they adorn. The Polish street artist brings beauty to unremarkable buildings while paying homage to the lost art of doily making. At this scale, the doilies move from domestic handy-craft to eye popping works of art. NeSpoon compares lace to an ancient code, one that almost every culture can connect with. Lace patterns are echoed throughout nature, she says, “in the shape of small sea creatures, flowers and snowflakes.”
Tammy Kanat‘s weaves asymmetrical ovals of colourful wool, linen, and silk. To me, they look like giant eyes with layers of moss green, vermilion and lapis blue. Iris comes directly from the Greek word Iris, which means ‘rainbow’. There is so much rich detail in the texture and colour of each one. “I often refer to my work, and it’s process like reading the chapters in a novel and not knowing what happens at the end until I finish the book,” says Kanat. “Not knowing the end of the story keeps me curious and motivated.”
Rebecca Sammon’s mythical, magical figures.
A mural by artist, Zhang Enli adorns the facade of a rural, Italian chapel.
Printed summer dresses by Oslo based, Cathrine Hammel.
Francisco Matto’s couple, crafted from marble and wood.
Smithsonian miscellaneous shell collections.
The walls at Osteria dei Meriavigliati
I think about colour combinations the way my foodie friends think about parings of flavour. I get as excited about turquoise and terracotta as they do about ginger and yuzu. A bad colour combination is as hard on the eyes as a peanut butter and onion sandwich is on the stomach. I understand, taste is subjective, but some things are not meant to be partnered. Puce and acid green, please leave the room. I will always come back to pink. Pink is my safe place. Everything, and I mean everything, looks good with pink. Chartreuse, check. Mustard, check. Cornsilk, check. Tangerine, double check. From a fleshy, Renoir pink to the hottest Schiaparelli, pink is the winning hue. It’s my pantry staple. Pink is my pepper.
I’m coming up for air after many days avec le dreaded virus, and much like I had hoped, there is some relief in having had it. As with anything we’re afraid of, the reality is rarely as bad as our imaginations would have us believe. I keep thinking about how far we’ve come, and how different my experience must be to people’s who caught it in the early months of a world in panic and lock-down, with no vaccine protection, long quarantines and a barrage of misinformation to wade through. I did throw a pity party for myself on more than one occasion, Jason being my only guest. We’re allowed to cry when we feel like shit. And we’re allowed to throw imaginary darts in the eyes of entitled, arrogant twats who’ve waltzed through the last two years ignoring and defying all sensible and altruistic action, people who’ve brushed it off as a mild headache or a bit of a sniffle. Goody for you. How nice that you’re sitting in a cafe with a mild headache. Now, do me a favour and choke on your croque monsieur. Once I stopped crying, (nothing like a good weep to release snot from your head) and feeling bitter and petty, I thanked my lucky stars.
Isamu Noguchi’s ashtray prototypes.
Pippa Dyrlaga’s exquisite paper cutouts.
Nathan Isaac’s mixed media collages.
Matt Stuart’s pictures of London’s busy streets.
Ice house in Iran, photographed by Lynn Davis.
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