It wasn’t the ocean, but it felt like it. The waves were big on North Beach in Prince Edward County when we visited yesterday. Antimo was the first to charge in and karate chop the waves. I forget that Lake Ontario is so huge, and that in some areas, it really does look and feel like miles and miles of wild and restless ocean.
Chic, chic, chic is what I have to say about the Stockholm home fashion star Giovanna Battaglia shares with her real estate heavyweight husband, Oscar Engelbert. I expected more of Battaglia’s signature whimsy and playfulness, but to see her in the space, it all makes sense. The apartment is sophisticated, sleek and serious –– Battaglia brings the whimsy. Playing a great supporting role, is a George Condo painting that adds massive colour to the otherwise neutral tones of their living room. A Lars Holmström chandelier provides an audacious pop to an understated dining room. Take a look. You’ll want to be her BFF.
All three of my children totter about in plastic boudoir heels that are as trashy as they are adorable. We own about ten pairs, in lilac, turquoise and pepto bismol pink. Some have bows, some have jewels, and one pair has a frothy bow made out of tulle. Minus the bijoux, I would happily totter about in a pair of mules. My grandmother wore a pair of clear plastic Cinderella mules with a lucite heel that I adored as a child. I’m not sure I’d wear those either today, but these Mansur Gavriels (in terracotta or coral suede) are right up my alley.
I’m a big fan of stripes. One can never go wrong with a chic breton stripe –– but wide stripes, mismatched stripes and stripes in bold colours –– are so much more fun. And unless you work in an ultra conservative office, (whereby your undergarments should be as silly, frilly and sexy as possible) I say choose the stripe with the greatest sense of humour. Because really, the world is filled with enough straight lines as it is.
On our way home from Ward’s Island yesterday, we found the island clubhouse abuzz with folks dancing, sipping cocktails and playing bocce to the sound of 1920s jazz. It was quite the scene –– and the only thing missing were the boaters, feathers and drop waist frocks. Had it not been the end of a long day on the island with 5 sprogs in tow, I may well have burst into a jitterbug.
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Into the Wild tells the true story of Chris McCandless, a 22-year-old disillusioned college graduate who trades in $27,000 of savings (he donates it to Oxfam) and a shot at Harvard Law School for life in the Alaskan wilderness. The film was directed by Sean Penn and was based on an American bestseller by Jon Krakaue. The landscape is stunning, with scenes on a beach in Beard’s Hollow, on the wheat fields of South Dakota, on the rapids of the Colorado River, and from a mountain overlooking the Salton Sea. The soulful soundtrack by Pearl Jam singer Eddie Vedder tells as much of the story as the script does, and the protagonist, played by Emile Hirsch has an air of a young DiCaprio. It’s not a new film, but if you haven’t seen it, do. At the very least, it will leave you lusting for the dunes of the Arizona desert.
The life of an acrobat is no doubt a grueling one, but the lights and costumes and magic of it all make it look so exciting. Last night, at the opening of Cirque du Soleil’s Mexican inspired Luzia, I was awestruck by what an acrobat can train his/her body (and mind) to achieve. Men in bird costumes jumping through hoops of various heights, Krzystof Holowenko’s eye-popping 360 degree swing, an extreme contortionist, and a juggler who turned seven silver batons into sparks of electricity –– it was thrilling. There was one woman in the cast that my eye kept darting to because she was so powerful, so graceful, and so deliberate in her movements. The contortionist was far creepier to watch, but again, the extreme to which he had stretched his body, was extraordinary to me. As far as cool professions go, acrobats sit high on my list. There’s something eternally childlike about the profession –– playground rituals on acid. I can picture many a four-year old boy threatening to run away from his brussel sprouts and join the circus instead.
I came across the work of Brazilian artist, Willian Santiago today. His instagram feed is delightful, with a mix of illustrations, succulents and splashes of red (tomatoes, a typewriter and his sneakers). It’s the portraits that I really love, this one, this one, and this one . The lady in her candy striped sunnies and giant headscarf is pretty fabulous, too.
I’ve always had a thing for white cotton Victorian dresses and blouses. When I lived in Kensington Market, I used to spend hours at Courage my Love admiring all the beautiful frocks in white Damask. The shop still carries them today. I have a couple of dresses –– richly embroidered with a dainty drop waist –– that are pretty and demure, and Victorian in spirit. But one of these days, I’ll buy the real thing and wear it with a pair of kick-ass trainers.
My love of red shoes is down to Dorothy. I’ve seen so many versions of her ruby sparklers, but none come close to the originals. Over the years, I’ve amassed quite the collection of red shoes, from espadrilles and ballerinas to a beautiful pair of tomato red lace Kirkwoods. The latter are quite uncomfortable, but I love them enough to bare the blisters. When I was in my late teens studying in Florence, my friend Hettie and I used to walk to school playing “spot the red shoes.” To this day, I take note when a pair of red kicks pass me by. I really think red shoes are a must in every girl’s shoe stash. They go with everything –– jeans, ballgowns, gingham –– and make the outfit a little more fabulous. Just look at Dorothy.
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